A Two-Sided Coin
by FlYiNgPiGlEtS
Summary: A collection of one-shots following the many antics and adventures of Arthur, Merlin and their various companions (and enemies) in and out of Camelot. Prompts welcome. VII: Sunrise: Part II - this time Merlin really is in the tavern. And Arthur is determined to find him, to make things right.
1. First Impressions

**A/N: **So, for the last three months, I have continuously stalked the Merlin fandom, checking every hour or something ridiculous like that to see if there was anything new to read because, honestly, Merlin is AMAZING. Needless to say, I love it and, now that the show is sadly over, some increasingly annoying plot bunnies have chosen this inconvenient time to pop up in my already-full head. Unfortunately, letting said bunnies free is a lot harder than it seems; I have spent a very, _very _long time convincing myself to actually post anything. This is my first fanfiction and as I just want to spend some time getting used to this, I'm going to start of with drabbles/one-shots as it seems easier than writing a whole fic straight away, especially since I'm so unreliable when it comes to actually finishing things.

I've seen a lot of people do this at the beginning, so I'll try too;

**Title: **First Impressions

**Author: **FlYiNgPiGlEtS

**Summary****: **Arthur explores his first and current impressions of his manservant turned friend.

**Rating:** K+

**Characters: **Arthur and Merlin

**Pairings:** none in this one. I won't write slash, but if you want to read and interpret it that way that's fine with me :)

**Spoilers: **none that I can think of.

**Disclaimer: **unfortunately, I don't own Merlin; it belongs to the BBC and Shine.

**Warnings: **none.

On with the writing…

* * *

**I:** _First Impressions_

As a child, Arthur was told many a time how important first impressions were.

He was the future King of Camelot, he _had _to come across as what his scholars must have described as chivalrous and noble and powerful, but he simply thought of as 'perfect'. If he showed himself up, it would reflect badly on his father, on his kingdom, on his future rule; it would shape the way whichever lord, lady or peasant alike he was meeting thought of him for the rest of his life. First impressions are unchangeable, correct and unimaginably important. For such a long time, Arthur believed that.

Then he met Merlin.

The man was undeniably an idiot. He was rude and disrespectful and Arthur, at the time, truly wanted to believe that he hated him. That was his first impression of Merlin – insolent, disregarding, careless, _stupid_ – and, of course, Arthur assumed that was the way he would always think of Merlin.

But as time went on, he was proven wrong. The daring disrespect was somewhat refreshing and, eventually, he came to welcome it because, admittedly, sometimes someone needed to put him in his place. He found himself liking the way Merlin rarely used titles, how he treated him almost like an equal and gave him something no one else had really offered him before – a chance to escape the pressure of being prince, if only for a moment. The carelessness gave way to the most unbelievable, unbreakable loyalty to both Arthur and Camelot, an unwavering willingness to do anything to protect them both that Arthur would call rash and foolish, but secretly admired.

And then there was the stupidity. Time after time Arthur would insult Merlin, tell him he was a brainless buffoon or something equally as degrading and, as he would come to realize, wrong. At first, he had dismissed it as an accident; he said so many ridiculous things, at least _one _sentence had to actually make sense. But then it started happening far more frequently and Arthur couldn't help but realise his servant was… well, he was _wise_. He had this knowledge about him that he must have been born with but developed with age and Arthur soon found himself turning to Merlin when he needed help because he was always there, with something so surprisingly true to say that he often didn't know what to say back, let alone thank him for it. Merlin was more of an advisor and more of a friend than anyone had ever been to him before.

Merlin was a _friend_.

That was defiantly not his first impression of Merlin; clever, loyal, selfless, someone who would one day become his closest friend. Arthur had been proven wrong – and he was glad for it. He was glad he had given Merlin a chance to change the way Arthur viewed him, to cement his trust in the warlock's advice and dependability, because now Arthur didn't know what he would do without him. One of the many lessons Merlin had taught him was that first impressions weren't always right.

There was one thing, however, that he_ had_ been right about: Merlin was brave. He was the bravest man Arthur had even known and he was privileged to have him by his side as they built Albion together. He was privileged – privileged to have such a good _friend_.

Because that's what Merlin was, and always would be; a friend, and an equal.

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Okay, there you go, my first ever Merlin drabble. I hope it wasn't too bad. Reviews (good or bad) and prompts welcome :)


	2. The Tavern List

**A/N: **I'm in the writing mood, so I decided to add another drabble (more of a one-short, really; it's long) and this time it's about Gwaine, because he is so awesome.

**Title: **The Tavern List

**Author: **FlYiNgPiGlEtS

**Summary****: **Camelot's Golden Age through the eyes of Sir Gwaine.

**Ratings**: T

**Characters: **Gwaine is chief of this chapter, but pretty much everyone is in it - Merlin, Arthur, Gwen and all the knights, including Lancelot. This is kind of AU, so Mordred isn't in it.

**Pairings:** no slash. Arthur/Gwen, though not much.

**Spoilers: **up to series 3, I guess. No really big ones, since it's a little AU.

**Disclaimer: **unfortunately, I don't own Merlin; it belongs to the BBC and Shine.

* * *

**II: **_The Tavern List_

Gwaine had been to nearly every tavern in the land. It was common knowledge that the drunkard even had a list on which he recorded each and every tavern he had ever been to so he never returned to the ones he was kicked out of (which was over half) and so, when it came to bragging, he always had something to add. The Tavern List, he called it, and was quite proud of the ingenious creation.

When he had met Merlin and the then-prince Arthur, the number had been 345.

It had been a normal day for him before they showed up. He woke up with no idea where he was, minus a few items of clothing, to find he had another large gap in his memory and quite a sore head. The only anomaly was that he woke up beside a chicken, flapping feathers and all, instead of some random barmaid. It was weird, sure, but he had awakened to worse before.

Gwaine had sold the chicken to a passing merchant and bought himself some more clothes, then took off to spend the rest of his money on mead. After finding the nearest tavern, he sat himself down and willowed in the carefree feeling of the alcohol sweeping through his system, flirting merrily with each women that passed him by. What better way to spend the afternoon?

He hadn't even looked up when the pair had entered, taking a seat and ordering their drinks from Mary. They were just two more strangers back then, two more faces he wouldn't remember tomorrow; he had been perfectly content with letting them pass though his life without him even sparing the duo a second look.

Then Dagr had entered and all hell broke loose.

Honestly, he hadn't intended to wind up in another bawl. He had been in enough of those to know that he should have tried a lot harder to avoid them, but he craved danger almost as much as he craved alcohol, so it was practically invertible that he would get involved in this particular fight. Looking back, he was very glad he had.

Gwaine's memory of it was quite hazy, due to both the three tankards of mead he had already had and the blood loss he suffered afterwards, but what he _did _remember was something he would become quite familiar with: Arthur looking out for Merlin and Merlin looking out for Arthur.

They had also looked out for Gwaine in that fight. That was something else he would also become used to, but he hadn't really thought much of it at the time; in fact, he had been slightly – all right, _incredibly _disrespectful of their kindness towards him. Spending all their money in the Rising Sun probably wasn't a good idea, but he _had _saved Arthur and Merlin's life, even if it got him banished.

The time between leaving Camelot and meeting Merlin again was a distant blur. 345 turned to 381 and somewhere along the way he realized he had made something of a friend in Merlin. That was new and strange, yet refreshing and nice, and he wasn't really sure what to make of it until Merlin came asking for a favour – then he realized that, for a friend, you would do anything… even save a pompous, pratish prince from a few wyverns.

He didn't like Arthur at first, but then he didn't like anyone noble. In the end, he saw why Merlin stuck around, why the warlock was so willing to lay down his life for Arthur; the prince's cause was an honorable one, one he didn't think he would mind following some day. Perhaps it would take a while for Arthur to truly change his ways, but he had Merlin and Gwen and with those two, he was sure the prince could do anything and everything. So Gwaine believed in him, albeit secretly, and followed him into battle again to reclaim Camelot from Morgana. It was what you did for a friend, for someone you respected – and one day, he knew as he fought that immortal army, he would feel that way about Arthur like he did Merlin. He only hoped that Arthur wouldn't let him down.

And Arthur didn't. He gave Gwaine something he never thought he would want, but would be lost without now – his knighthood. He became _Sir _Gwaine, Knight of the Round Table, one of Arthur's most trusted men.

It was odd, really, having people trust him, rely on him. It was even stranger to have a home; for so long, he had drifted from tavern to tavern, conceiving the best list ever made (and hopefully nothing else), but now he had a place, a purpose. Gwaine – that's _Sir _Gwaine to you, actually – was _settled_.

Arthur became king and things finally fitted into place. Gwaine was needed here in Camelot, where he had friends – friends he wouldn't hesitate to call family, even – and he didn't want to be anywhere else. With the help of his fellow knights and Merlin, he calmed his rowdy ways and became a well-respected member of court. Sure, he was still loved danger and mead and women, still joked about and refused to take anything too seriously. He was still Gwaine, and always would be, but he was becoming something of a legend, and for all the right reasons. Some people were even calling him a role model these days.

For the first time in his life, Gwaine felt like he had achieved something. He was proud of himself, but most of all he was proud of the man who had helped him to get to where he was: Merlin. The Round Table wasn't complete without him.

Gwaine still remembered the day Merlin finally took his rightful place next to Arthur as Court Sorcerer. He _knew _the man had been hiding something, knew that all those 'strokes of luck' shouldn't have been dismissed so quickly. When Merlin told him the truth long before Arthur ever knew, he was happy that his friend could trust him, though he may have been a little annoyed that the warlock had told Lancelot, of all people, before him, at least until Merlin showed him some _very _cool party tricks. When the king finally found out, Gwaine was more than happy that he also accepted Merlin's magic, despite it taking him a while to come around, even after aforementioned party tricks. But eventually it worked out and magic returned to the land and so did the position of Court Sorcerer. The title just seemed to fit Merlin and, from that day onwards, Albion's Golden Age was truly upon them; the Once and Future King ruled with both Emrys and his beautiful Queen at his side, the Round Table very much complete, and all was good and well. He was right; Arthur really could do anything with Merlin and Gwen at his side. And, no matter what, Gwaine respected him; Arthur was the man he was meant to be, the man Merlin always believed he would be, and none of them would have him any other way. He was more than their king now; he was their friend.

He completed the Tavern List quite a while after that, when they were all well into their later years (although Arthur insisted those were _not _grey hairs Gwen saw – it was just a trick of the light). It was regarded as somewhat of a monumental day when Gwaine went to the only tavern he had never visited, accompanied by King Arthur, Queen Guinevere, Lord Emrys (yes, _Lord_; Arthur had insisted) and Sirs Leon, Elyan, Percival and Lancelot. He wrote down the name of the tavern and then counted all the others to make sure he hadn't added them wrong. Satisfied, he looked up at his friends, who were waiting expectantly for the final tally.

"701 exactly," Gwaine announced.

They cheered and clapped and patted the knight on the back. Soon, the conversation had turned to their many years together. They sat and they reminisced about all their adventures, about the many more they would have. It was a brilliant night and a fantastic way to finish the list.

When it was time to turn in for the night, far earlier than they ever had in their youth, Gwaine had stood as they gathered their things and, over the commotion, bid them all farewell with a "Goodnight, my friends." Because they were his friends, his oldest and best, all of them, and he owed them so much.

The Tavern List became quite the useful artifact. His fellow knights told their children and, when the time came, their grandchildren the stories behind each tavern. They may not have been the ordinary bedtime stories, but would you ever expect '_ordinary_' from them? They didn't even know what the word meant; their Court Sorcerer could talk to _dragons_, for goodness sake! Oh, the stories they told about _that_…

It was never the life Gwaine expected; it was better. So much better.

His luck number would always be 345.

* * *

So that turned out a lot cheesier than I expected. It was kind of the AU Golden Age through Gwaine's eyes, I suppose.

Let me know what you thought. Any prompts? :)


	3. Duck!

**A/N: **SNOW! That's it :)

**Title: **Duck!

**Author: **FlYiNgPiGlEtS

**Summary: **Merlin wasn't aiming for Arthur's face when he threw that snowball. Honest.

**Rating: **T

**Characters: **Arthur, Merlin and all the knights (except Lancelot)

**Pairings:** implied Gwen/Arthur. I don't write slash, but if you want to read and interpret it that way that's fine with me :)

**Spoilers: **slight spoilers up to the end of series 4.

**Disclaimer: **unfortunately, I don't own Merlin; it belongs to the BBC and Shine.

**Warnings: **none.

* * *

**III: **_Duck!_

Merlin trudged gloomily through the snow, his aching legs protesting angrily. It was already up to his knees and he could practically sense the incoming blizzard, yet Arthur insisted they carry on hunting until they found some game good enough for the banquet later that week.

Usually, Merlin loved snow. He and Will would always play in it when they were children, sliding down hills on the plates they stole from their mothers' kitchens or chucking snowballs at the neighbours' children from behind fallen trees. It was always the one highlight of the harsh winters Ealdor faced, a welcome break for all the children to finally have some fun and worry about what the unforgiving weather meant for them later, when they returned to their concerned parents.

Now, however, Merlin decided that he hated the stuff. And it was all Arthur's fault – Arthur's fault for dragging them all the way out here simply to kill some poor, innocent animals that were probably struggling just as much as Camelot in the cold.

The King was almost as miserable as him, but for entirely different reasons. Apparently, Merlin was being a lazy and incompetent and slacking off all his duties, and it was _his _fault none of the knights had caught anything.

"Do I look like I care how cold you are, Merlin?" Arthur was rambling irately. "All you had to do was make sure we have enough food and water, check that our weapons are sharpened and working, polish my armor, clean my cloak, find the _right _boots, not these pathetic things – they look like something _you _would wear! – and make sure you didn't scare of every damn animal we come across. But _no_, you can't even do that, can you, _Mer_lin?"

Merlin had zoned out after the first sentence, staring dejectedly down at his feet, which he was sure would fall off if they didn't get back to Camelot soon. He had stopped feeling his toes a while ago, yet Arthur was still complaining about his fur-lined boots, the prat.

Honestly, Merlin wasn't aiming for Arthur's face when he threw that snowball. It just so happened that the King had turned around at the right time after hearing Merlin had stopped walking and the big ball of snow hit him right on the nose.

Arthur stared at Merlin in shock for a very long time, as though he couldn't fathom what the servant had just done to him. Blinking slowly, as if to clear his muddled thoughts, he continued to look at Merlin with the upmost confusion, still looking utterly stunned.

Then Gwaine, who had been standing behind the pair with the rest of the knights, leaped towards Merlin with an excited screech of "Merlin, you _legend_!"

This snapped Arthur out of his perplexed astonishment. Spitting out the snow that had gotten into his mouth and narrowing his blue eyes into an icy glare that seemed to lower the temperature by a good few degrees, the King knelt in the snow and started gathering up his own ball.

"Right, _Mer_lin, you're on," Arthur challenged.

And the was how King Arthur, his four most trusted knights and best friend got into the biggest snowball fight Camelot had ever witnessed. There were snow forts, snowmen and snowballs the size of the game they had completely forgotten about. The worst hunting trip ever quickly turned into the best as they ran around like children, with no cares in the world.

They returned to Camelot later that night, freezing cold and soaking wet, to a scolding Queen and a disapproving Court Physician. Still, that didn't ruin the fun they had; nothing would.

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Let me know what you think. Need some prompts, if anyone has any :)


	4. The Bravest and Most Noble of Them All

**A/N: **I think – and when I say think, I really have no idea – that this is hurt/comfort. It's more of the emotional kind. I've never done anything like this before, so it might fail completely. Hopefully it turns out okay.

**Title: **The Bravest and Most Noble of Them All

**Author: **FlYiNgPiGlEtS

**Summary: **Arthur comforts Merlin after Lancelot's death.

**Ratings**: T

**Characters: **Merlin and Arthur.

**Pairings: **no slash. Slight Gwen/Lancelot and Gwen/Arthur.

**Spoilers:** up to 4x02.

**Disclaimer: **unfortunately, I don't own Merlin; it belongs to the BBC and Shine.

* * *

**IV: **_The Bravest and Most Noble of Them All_

His father had told him again and again that there were plenty of people willing to die for him. Once, Uther had even dared to tell him that their lives were worth_ less_ than his, that he was just going to accept their sacrifices and move on.

Arthur refused. He refused to believe that one life was more valuable than another, that anyone should sacrifice themselves for him because he was crown prince of Camelot. It was his job to protect his people, not theirs to protect him; no one should have to die for him.

But they had. And this time it was Lancelot.

Arthur had been so close to sacrificing himself. He had resigned himself to it long before they arrived at the Isle of the Blessed. He knew what had to be done in order to save Camelot and was willing to pay the price. No matter how much Merlin and the rest of the knights protested, he _would_ rid Camelot of the Dorocha and he _would_ do it himself.

He had been so close.

Arthur remembered stepping towards the veil, then nothing. Someone must have knocked him out, though he hadn't actually been told whom – Merlin had been the only witness and he wasn't exactly up for talking about it yet.

Leon had been at his side when he woke, a look of worry and carefully contained grief on his face as the prince bolted upright and demanded to know what on earth happened. The knight had hesitated, glancing over his shoulder at where the veil had once been, and Arthur's heart jumped into this throat. Merlin was sitting against the alter in the center of the gloomy room, his legs pulled up to his chest and Gwaine's cloak wrapped around his trembling body, and he looked almost as ill and pale as he had after leaping in front of the Dorocha. For a brief, terrifying moment he thought the idiot had gone and got himself frozen again while he was unconscious, until he realized that there was one knight missing. Lancelot was gone.

"No," he had said desperately. "No. He didn't… _no_!"

Merlin had flinched like Arthur's yell had physically hurt him, turning his blank eyes to the prince and then back to Elyan, who was crouching in front of him. Elyan had tried to get what had happened out of the shivering servant, but he had only shaken his head and asked that they leave. No one refused.

They rode back into Camelot in silence, only talking when they needed to. Arthur knew Merlin hadn't slept when they made camp, but the more he thought about what happened the less he thought about his mourning friend.

Another life had been lost because of him. It was all his fault. He would have to return to Camelot and tell his subjects of the knight's passing and arrange a memorial for him, and it was all his fault He would have to tell Guinevere – poor, sweet Guinevere – and it was all _his fault_.

Somehow, he had done it. The days blurred together into an awful montage of him comforting Gwen, of him announcing Lancelot's death and paying tribute to the knight, of him visiting his father and tying not to break down when he told the lost king what had happened. He hoped Uther saw now just how noble Lancelot had been, how it didn't matter that he wasn't a nobleman. Now, more than ever, Arthur believed that.

It had been strangely devoid of Merlin since their return from the Isle of the Blessed. He had been there, of course, helping Arthur like he always did, but he wasn't himself; he seemed almost… empty. Merlin barely talked unless he had to, acknowledged things only after Arthur had repeated them a good few times. Arthur didn't know if it was possible, but Merlin seemed guiltier than even him.

He should have paid more attention, but he had been so caught up in himself and all the things he had to do that he hadn't thought about Merlin's loss. Arthur had presumed Gwaine and Gaius would be around to help Merlin if he needed it. He overlooked Merlin's stubbornness, his inability to accept that he wasn't all right, and continued to go on thinking about himself. Arthur had lost a friend too. Merlin would be fine; he always was.

One early morning not long after Lancelot's memorial, however, it finally hit him just how ignorant he had been.

Arthur hadn't been sleeping that well. Occasionally, he got a few hours in, but the Cailleach haunted his dreams. Behind his closed eyes, he would see her pale face and the way she beaconed him towards his end. Then he would dream of the veil closing around Lancelot. Sometimes he even saw Merlin jumping in front of the Dorocha, of him being thrown him against that wall and the terrifying moments after when Arthur thought he was dead. The dreams were all horrifyingly familiar, so vivid that it took minutes for him to realize they weren't real.

That night hadn't been much different. He had slept longer than usual, but was awake before the sun even rose, pacing aimlessly around his bedroom and wishing Merlin decided to show up freakishly early. Arthur doubted he would mind if Merlin, for some reason, turned up under his bed again. He, along with Gwen, had a strange talent for making him feel better; since the latter was grieving herself, it was far more likely that Merlin would be the one making an appearance.

Neither had come. Eventually, he had dressed himself – see, he was perfectly capable of functioning without Merlin – and snuck cloaked out of his chambers. He passed the guards with little difficulty, making a mental note to refresh their training sometime soon, and found himself nearing the courtyard. Perhaps walking through the lower town would make him feel less alone.

He was just reaching the steps when he saw he wasn't the only one out and about. Pressing his back against the wall, he peered around to get a better look at the possible intruder.

What he saw made his chest ache in a way that was becoming increasingly familiar to him as of late. Merlin sat alone in the soft sapphire blue of the early morning, his head hung low and shoulders sagging as though he could no longer carry the heavy load that rested on them. Arthur thought of his happy, carefree buffoon of a manservant – the man sitting in the courtyard wasn't him.

Arthur considered turning around and pretending he hadn't seen anything, but instantly felt awful for thinking such a thing. Merlin was his friend and while he did his best to ensure no one else knew, it had become somewhat undeniable. Though he had few, if any friends in the past, he knew you didn't just leave them when they needed you. And Merlin needed him, even if he would be the last to admit it.

Slowly, so not to startle the man, Arthur walked down the steps and took a seat beside Merlin. He took in the paleness of Merlin's features worriedly; he looked like he had slept and certainty ate less than Arthur had in the last couple of days. Trust Merlin to ignore Gaius' orders. He was supposed to be regaining his strength after his run-in with the Dorocha, which, in case the idiot didn't know, involved adequate nutrition and a good few hours of rest.

"I must be dreaming," Arthur remarked. "You're never up this early."

He instantly regretted it. He'd come here to comfort Merlin, not insult him. While he felt like a total _girl_ doing it – like Merlin, even… no, wait, that was also insulting – there was no way he was going to let his servant suffer in silence this time. Besides, Merlin would do the same for him – in a totally non-girly way, because Merlin was _not _a girl and Arthur wasn't going to say anything else that would hurt his feelings today.

_Hurt his feelings_? The arrogant voice in the back of his head spoke up. _Yeah, that's not at all girly. _

"You're one to talk, dollophead," Merlin replied, but it fell short. He sounded as hollow as he looked.

They lapsed into silence, in which Merlin seemed to grow sadder and Arthur scrambled desperately for something to say. It wasn't fair – how was Merlin so good at this? Arthur had fought dragons, faced wyvern and survived a large number of magical assassination attempts, yet he had no idea how to cheer up his friend.

_Best friend_, the not-arrogant voice in the back of his head chirped in.

No, if Merlin could do it so could he. With a deep, steadying breath he finally summed up the courage to speak when…

"There's nothing you can say," Merlin murmured with a look of such dejection that the startling pain in Arthur's chest returned. The prince felt like he was drowning in freezing water, grasping desperately at all the words he wanted to say but being dragged under by a current of cowardice and uncertainty and his stupid, ridiculous pride.

"Merlin," Arthur said, voice quiet and insecure, much to his chagrin. He wanted to sound like he knew what he was doing, that he was all right with being the comforter and not the comfortee this time, but Merlin knew him too well.

"No, Arthur." Merlin leapt up suddenly, as if the step had shoved him off. Arthur noted the way Merlin was shaking as he paced madly across the step bellow with concern – he looked exhausted and weak, like his legs would buckle at any minute from grief and starvation and total disregard for his own health. "There's nothing anyone can say or do to make this better. Lancelot is gone and it's all my fault."

"Your fault?" Arthur echoed. "Merlin, if anyone is to blame, it's me."

"No." Merlin stopped and let his chin fall to his chest for a moment in shame, before taking up his manic pacing once more. "No, it should have been me. I was prepared to sacrifice myself so you wouldn't have to, so that Camelot would be saved – I was ready. I have always been ready to give myself for your cause. It certainly wouldn't be the first time – seriously, I'm pretty much used to it by now – so what could go wrong? I was so _stupid_. I wasn't paying attention to Lancelot; I was so focused on getting you out of the way. I had you knocked unconscious, for goodness sake; I was _ready_."

"_You _knocked me out?"

Merlin didn't appear to have heard him. "I shouldn't have told him. He knew what I was planning to do, knew it was my duty, but he did it anyway. There was nothing I could do but watch him step into the veil and then… then it closed around him and he was gone. I… there was nothing I could do. It was so quiet afterwards, for such a long time. And others didn't come for such a long time, and I just stood there. I just stood there and did nothing. _Nothing_."

Arthur was suffocating again, his chest constricting. He had no idea.

"And now I can't bring him back. He's gone for good. There was never anything I could do." Merlin's laugh was sour and humorless. "It was fate again; destiny's cruel plan to take everyone I love from me. It's not fair. It's _not fair_. What have I done wrong?"

"Nothing, Merlin; you have done nothing."

"But it should have been me! Why wasn't it me?"

Arthur was on his feet now too, gripping Merlin's shoulders and forcing him to stop before he collapsed. "Merlin." He gave his friend a gentle shake. "It was not your duty; it wasn't Lancelot's. It was _mine_. I should have been the one to step through the veil."

"No, Arthur." Merlin shook his head frantically. "It could never be you."

"Merlin, none of us should have to make such sacrifices. What Lancelot did… it was noble and brave and it will never be forgotten. _He _will never be forgotten." It was hitting Arthur with sudden clarity as he told Merlin, the words sinking into his own guilt-filled mind as he spoke. "I know it isn't fair. I understand how guilty and lost you must be feeling right now, but you need to remember what he did. He saved Camelot, Merlin; he saved us all. He was – _is _a hero and I will make sure his sacrifice was not in vain. I only hope that, wherever he is, he knows how thankful we all are. It may never be enough, but preserving his memory is all we can do for him now."

"Gwen, the knights… if it was me, they wouldn't…"

"Do you think they wouldn't grieve for you? They would, Merlin; _I_ would," Arthur admitted. "If it had been you that stepped through that veil, our pain would be no less; surely you must know that."

Merlin said nothing. Arthur took a deep breath.

"Merlin, you are my friend. I could not bear to loose you."

Tear-filled azure eyes met Arthur's. "Lancelot was my friend."

"I know."

"He was a good friend."

"I know."

"I won't forget him."

"_We _won't forget him," Arthur corrected.

Merlin nodded, a new sense of strength about him. He seemed steadier now, his legs more able to support him. Arthur knew then that, while it would take time, he would be all right; they would both be all right. Neither were alone in their grief now.

And they would never forget Lancelot. Never.

"Come on." Arthur draped one arm around Merlin's shoulders. "It's nearly time for breakfast. Should I ask the cook to bring up two meals?"

"What?"

"I know you've been disobeying orders," Arthur said as they made their way up the steps. "What did Gaius tell you about looking after yourself?"

"Clotpole," Merlin muttered.

"Dollophead," Arthur countered. So much for not insulting him.

"Prat."

"Cabbage head."

_I might just be getting the hang of this 'friendship' thing_, Arthur thought proudly.

* * *

'Comfortee' isn't a word, is it?

Eeek! I hope it wasn't too awful.

Kitkat's prompt should be up soon - possibly tomorrow, though it's taking a lot longer than I expected.


	5. Accidents Happen

**A/N: **first prompt from kitkat. Exciting yet totally nerve-wracking. This might turn out absolutely terrible; I'm incredibly sorry if it does. Also, beware – this turned out to be much longer than I expected so will be in two parts.

**Title: **Accidents Happen

**Author: **FlYiNgPiGlEtS

**Summary: **prompt from kitkat – Merlin is accidently injured during training.

**Ratings**: T

**Characters: **Merlin, Arthur, the knights and Gaius.

**Pairings: **sort of Gwen/Arthur, though this is during their 'break up' period, and mentions of Gwen/Lancelot.

**Spoilers: **up to 4x09 (set directly after 'Lancelot du Lac')

**Warnings: **some blood and injuries, as well as possible OOC-ness (which is partly my fault… though certain fictional characters who like to accessorize with enchanted bracelets and go around kissing dead knights may also be to blame – sorry Gwen)

**Disclaimer: **unfortunately, I don't own Merlin; it belongs to the BBC and Shine.

* * *

**V: **_Accidents Happen: Part I_

Leon and Gwaine watched as Arthur stormed towards the training field, Merlin stumbling along behind the king as he struggled to carry nearly every weapon in the armory. Gwaine instantly recognized the look on Arthur's face; it was the one he had worn ever since exiling Guinevere, the one that meant he would tolerate nothing but a good fight today.

Gwaine would have smirked at the younger knights as they scurried away from the irate king if he hadn't seen the way Arthur had been treating Merlin recently. Gwaine knew the man was frustrated, he understood that he was feeling betrayed and used and angry, but that didn't give him the right to take it out on Merlin. The servant had done nothing to warrant such treatment. It wasn't right.

"I swear, if this goes on any longer I'm going to give Arthur a piece of my mind," Gwaine announced to Leon. "Merlin has done nothing wrong."

"He just needs some time," Leon reasoned.

"He's had plenty of time. He needs to stop behaving like a… what did he say to Merlin that time we were in Mercia?"

"Girl's petticoat?"

"That's it." Gwaine clicked his fingers in acknowledgement. "He's behaving like a girl's petticoat and if it continues, I will personally throttle the hypocrite."

"That would be treason, Gwaine," Leon sighed.

"Not if he deserves it."

"_Even _if he deserves it."

Gwaine shot Leon a dark glare. "You're next on the list."

* * *

Across the training field, Arthur and Merlin had come to a halt beside the knights who had already begun practice among themselves. Letting out a weary sigh, Merlin dropped the weapons he was holding to the ground with a loud clatter and stretched out his aching arms beside the king. He barely realized Arthur was no longer watching the fighting knights with angry disapproval, but glaring at him with barely-contained fury until he had finished massaging his protesting muscles.

"You useless _idiot_!" Arthur hissed. "Are you capable of doing anything right? You had one thing to do – _one_! – and you can't even manage that. How hard is it to carry a few crossbows? Did I tell you to put them down yet?"

"A few crossbows? This is every weapon in the armory, you prat!" Merlin protested exasperatedly.

"How _dare _you speak to me like that? I am your _king_, I demand-"

"Arthur-"

"You will address me properly!" Arthur snapped. "Now pick up that shield and at least act like you have a brain."

Merlin didn't move, only he stood and stared at him in shock. Arthur had never spoken to him with such vehemence, not even when he was just an arrogant prince and Merlin just another passing peasant he could patronise. He had become increasingly testy since Guinevere's exile, yes, but this was so out of character that Merlin wondered whether Arthur had somehow gotten possessed while he wasn't looking.

"I said pick it up!" Arthur shouted, kicking the worn-down wooden shield towards the dumbstruck servant.

Slowly, Merlin reached down and lifted the shield from the ground. Hooking one arm through the straps and using the other to put on his helmet, he wordlessly took up a ready stance and waited for Arthur's attack.

The first blow was much harder than Merlin anticipated and sent him wobbling backwards, almost tripping over his own feet. He had barely regained his footing before Arthur landed another hit. Between the slits in his helmet, Merlin nervously observed the livid expression on Arthur's face. His jaw was clenched and he looked as though he were fighting one of his enemies. Something akin to worry pooled into his stomach. Worry… and fear.

No, that wasn't right. Merlin wasn't supposed to be scared of Arthur. They were _friends_; Arthur would never do anything to hurt him. Yet he continued to strike the shield with more strength and velocity than the blow before, until Merlin was sure Arthur had forgotten he was fighting _Merlin_ – Merlin, who he called a girl on a daily basis. Merlin, who was more than just a servant to him. Merlin, who he would never hurt.

He barely saw it coming. One moment he was wondering what kind of spell could make Arthur behave in such a way, the next was on the ground, helmet rolling off his head and shield slamming onto the grass beside him. He heard a sickening crunch and could distantly make out someone calling his name, but all he could focus on was the agony that shot through his left arm.

Merlin knew straight away that it was broken. The sudden, intense pain of the initial break gave way to an almost unbearable agony as his radius struggled into a new position. He didn't know if the digging sensation underneath his skin was the shattered bone poking at his twisted muscles or if he was only imaging things in his barely-coherent state.

From somewhere across the training field he heard his name being called again, this time with more desperation and fear, and he looked up just in time to see a flash of silver. Then the hilt of Arthur's sword came crashing down onto his head.

Hitting the floor with a thump, the last thing Merlin remembered before the darkness consumed him was the feeling of something warm trailing down his forehead and seeping through his hair.

* * *

Since Guinevere's betrayal, Arthur found that the only time he felt better was when he was hitting something with all his might. He was angry and hurt and the only way he knew how to deal with that was lashing out. If he didn't have Merlin around to be his human practice dummy, his wrath would certainly be a lot worse.

That day had been no different. He had woken in a fowl mood after a decidedly awful council meeting the previous day and realized he had five ridiculously young and almost-as-useless-as-Merlin knights to train. The only reason they had been knighted was because Merlin had given him the wrong sword during their initiation, the incompetent fool.

His breakfast had been cold, his bed-tussled hair wouldn't settle and the shirt Merlin had forced him into was too itchy. The ground was still damp from the heavy rainfall the previous night and there was more on the way, which could possibly threaten the upcoming harvest. Nothing was going right.

So when Merlin had gone and deliberately dropped all the weapons he requested, Arthur had quite literally snapped. He had said things he couldn't remember but knew he didn't mean and forced Merlin into being his target again. It felt good to beat the servant's measly shield with all his strength, ignoring his cries of protest as he shoved him further and further across the slippery field. He dimly registered the concern in Merlin's eyes before the warlock went crashing down to the ground, shield and all.

He had taken things too far. He was blinded by his fury, by the betrayal that was eating away at his breaking heart. If he had been paying attention, he would have noticed the way Merlin was cradling his limp arm and how his helmet had fallen off when he hit the ground.

It was an accident.

Gwaine was yelling at him – he had been since Merlin fell – and Arthur was lifting his sword. A moment too late he realized Merlin was completely unprotected against any blow to the head. The hilt of his sword slammed against Merlin's skull with an audible _smack_ and he went plummeting backwards.

Horrified, Arthur had thrown the sword as though it burnt him and stared wide-eyed at Merlin, who lay sprawled out across the floor, unconscious. A thickening trail of blood was sliding down the side of his face and dripping onto the once-green grass. His left arm, which Arthur was now sure he had broken, was twisted at an unnatural angle beside him.

Arthur didn't know what to do except stare.

Then he was the one hurtling towards the ground. Arthur didn't even register Gwaine's booming battle cry until he was sitting on the grass, hand against his throbbing jaw. Gwaine had punched him. _Gwaine _had _punched _him.

Leon and Elyan rushed to restrain the furious knight before he could land another blow. Gwaine struggled madly as they gripped his arms, pulling him away from Arthur and the still-unconscious Merlin.

"Let me go!" Gwaine yelled. "Let me at the little son of a-!"

Arthur could only stare as Gwaine continued to tug at the knights clinging to his arms. His eyes were wide with fury and hated as he spat profanities at the king, never relenting in his struggle for another chance to hit Arthur. He had never seen Gwaine so angry.

Blinking the shock from his foggy mind, Arthur scrambled across the ground towards Merlin's unconscious form. He could scarcely breathe when he saw the pool of blood beside his friend, flowing freely from the head wound he had made.

"_Merlin_," he whispered, voice cracking as he shook the man's shoulders desperately. "Merlin. Merlin, _please_..."

Arthur didn't know what he was asking of him. Perhaps he was begging for his forgiveness, perhaps he was pleading for him to wake up; perhaps it was both. But no matter how hard he shook Merlin, no matter how much he muttered unintelligible requests for him to be all right, to _wake up_, he didn't stir.

"Arthur."

Arthur didn't even notice Percival kneeling beside Merlin and checking his injuries until spoke. The muscular knight placed a reassuring hand on the king's shoulder and gently pushed him back onto his heels, stopping any more frantic attempts to wake Merlin, who still didn't show any sings of regaining consciousness.

"Arthur," Percival said again and Arthur finally dragged his eyes away from Merlin to look at him. "We need to get him to Gaius."

Seeing the evident worry in Percival's eyes, Arthur swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. Percival moved to lift Merlin from the ground, but Arthur stopped him. "No, let me."

Careful not to jog his broken arm or do any more damage to his head, Arthur gently lifted Merlin off the ground and stumbled to his feet. Percival stood too and, seeing how Leon and Elyan could barely contain Gwaine, made his way over to them after giving Arthur a small nod and matching smile that seemed to say, _look after him_.

* * *

The journey back to the castle felt much longer than usual. His arms ached from carrying Merlin, but he only reminded himself that he deserved it. After all, this was his fault. It was his fault Merlin was injured.

Worried stares followed him up the steps and through the corridors. Agravaine would hear about this soon and no doubt disapprove, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Soon, he had reached the steps leading to Gaius' quarters and tiredly made his way up them. Thankfully, the door was open when he reached the top and he staggered inside, rapidly scanning the room.

"Gaius!" Arthur called loudly, praying the Court Physician was here and not out doing rounds.

"Arthur? What are you-?" Gaius came rushing down the stairs and, upon seeing the unconscious and bleeding Merlin, went slightly pale. "Put him here."

Arthur lowered Merlin onto the patient bed and stood uselessly beside it. He wanted to do something, _anything_, but he found himself watching on in detached distress as Gaius checked his ward. He held his breath when Gaius checked Merlin's pulse, as if it had vanished since Arthur last checked, and flinched when the physician started to brace his broken arm, which had now gone a horrible black-purple colour. He was relived when he saw Merlin grimaced too; it was a good sign, even if it made his stomach twist with guilt.

"He should be fine once he wakes," Gaius announced after he had finished bandaging Merlin's head. "He may be in quite a bit of pain and I wouldn't be surprised if he has a concussion, but he should make a full recovery."

Arthur let out a sigh of relief and smiled down at his friend.

"Sire, if I may; what happened?"

Unsure of how to answer, Arthur could only stare at Merlin. His smile had vanished, replaced by a look of guilt and uncertainty. How did he tell Gaius that this was his fault? That he had done this?

Arthur hung his head. "It was me, Gaius."

Gaius' expression remained impressively impassive, but his raised eyebrows spoke volumes.

"We were training. I was… I don't know… I…"Arthur babbled. "It was an accident. I hit him too hard and he fell – he must have broken his arm on the way down – and then… I didn't realize his helmet fell off and I-"

Before Arthur could finish his explanation, the door flew open and slammed against the wall with a loud bang, jars and bottles rattling on tables and shelves. Gwaine stormed inside, a murderous expression in his face as he pointed an accusing finger at Arthur and advanced towards him.

"_You _did this, you-!" Gwaine snarled, but before he could finish there was more commotion by the door as Leon, Elyan and Percival charged inside.

"Gwaine," Elyan said calmly. "You need to calm down."

"Calm down? He _hurt _Merlin!" Gwaine turned to Gaius. "Gaius, he did this; he hurt Merlin."

Gaius nodded calmly. "I know."

"That's it?" Gwaine demanded. "You're all going to act like nothing happened?"

"It was an accident, Gwaine," Leon argued. "You know Arthur would never hurt Merlin intentionally."

"He wasn't paying attention! He saw Merlin fall, he should have _stopped_!"

"You're right," Arthur murmured. "I should have paid attention."

"Like hell I'm right! Ever since Guinevere left, you-"

That was taking it too far; it was too soon since her betrayal, since Arthur sent her away. Gwaine was waving meat in front of a lion and expecting it not to pounce.

"Gwaine," Leon warned cautiously.

"No, let me finish," Gwaine hushed the concerned knight. "Ever since Guinevere left, you have treated Merlin like dirt. You yell at him, you insult him, you _hit _him. What has he done to deserve it? Merlin didn't betray you! He is loyal and selfless and you don't deserve a friend like him. And yes, Arthur, that's what he is – he's you're friend and in case you didn't know, you don't hurt your friends."

"You should leave, Gwaine." Arthur's voice was low and threatening. Gwaine might have been right, but that did _not _give him the right to bring Guinevere into this.

"You should be ashamed of yourself!" Gwaine snapped. "I swear, Arthur, if anything like this ever happens again I will hunt you down and-!"

"Silence!" Arthur bellowed. "Get out now or I will put you in the cells!"

Gwaine hands curled into fists. "What is _wrong _with you? Are you under some kind of enchantment, or is your poor little heart so broken that you are_ completely_ blind to everything but your own stupidity? In case you didn't realize, we weren't the ones bloody snogging Lancelot!"

"Guards!" Arthur snapped. He was going to lash out himself if Gwiane didn't leave.

The two guards who had been waiting outside the physician's quarters entered quickly, presumably already aware of what had happened after hearing Gwaine's yelling.

"Seize him!" he ordered.

Just as the guards advanced to remove Gwaine from the room, he scrambled towards Arthur as if to punch him again. Before he could get within arm's reach of the king, however, Percival's arms were hooked through his, pulling him away. Kicking and screaming, Gwaine was dragged from the room by the two guards and Percival. An unsure silence fell over those who remained inside; no one knew what to say.

"Sire," Gaius finally broke the silence, voice level and calm. "Merlin needs to rest. I think it would be best if you all left."

Arthur's eyes traveled to Gaius, then Merlin. He took a long, deep breath and left the room without a word. Leon and Elyan glanced unsurely at each other before nodding their farewells to the physician and taking their own leave.

Gaius took a seat next to Merlin and waited.

* * *

_End of Part I_

* * *

Well, this is going to be a long one. I hope you're liking it so far, kitkat; thanks for the prompt! :)

Reviews and more prompts are always welcome. :)


	6. Accidents Happen: Part II

**A/N: **firstly, thank you so much for all your reviews, follows and favourites. It means a lot to me and it's really inspiring.

Secondly, this was written and re-written a _lot _of times. This took a lot of work and compromise, which is why it is so late. I don't know how good it will be. I'm am not at all sure about this. But here it is anyway, part two of kitkat's prompt. Enjoy :)

**Title: **Accidents Happen

**Author: **FlYiNgPiGlEtS

**Summary: **prompt from kitkat – Merlin is accidently injured during training. Arthur comes to terms with what he's done.

**Ratings**: T

**Characters: **Merlin, Arthur, the knights and Gaius.

**Pairings: **sort of Gwen/Arthur, though this is during their 'break up' period, and mentions of Gwen/Lancelot.

**Spoilers: **up to 4x09 (set directly after 'Lancelot du Lac')

**Warnings: **some blood and injuries, as well as possible OOC-ness (which is partly my fault… though certain fictional characters who like to accessorize with enchanted bracelets and go around kissing dead knights may also be to blame – sorry Gwen)

**Disclaimer: **unfortunately, I don't own Merlin; it belongs to the BBC and Shine.

* * *

**V: **_Accidents Happen: Part II_

It was raining when Merlin first woke up.

Outside, night was fast approaching, but a gathering of melancholy grey clouds already darkened the sky. A few wax candles cast a warm, welcome glow over Gaius' quarters. It was comfortable, safe, and he wanted nothing more than to curl up underneath the many blankets someone had covered him in and return to his rest, but the constant pounding of the heavy rain only served to sharpen the pain in his head. He thought perhaps his skull was cracking, breaking into lots of little pieces that dug at his skin. The thumping feeling that spread across his forehead was the worst, the pressure of it forcing him in and out of lucidity for a while as he tried to work out why he felt so terrible.

Lightening flashed somewhere in the distance and startled him out of half-consciousness, strange recognition flooding through his weak body as his eyes adjusted to his familiar surroundings. A disfigured memory was trying to worm its way out of the crevices of his mind, where he had subconsciously stored it, begging him to reach for it.

Arthur's sword. It flashed above him – then came crashing down onto his head.

Oh.

"Merlin?"

After blinking the remnants of sleep from his eyes, Merlin could see six people hovering over him. He frowned, but the stretching of his facial muscles only made his headache worse. He closed his eyes and sunk back into the pillows with a small, frustrated sigh. It was far less stimulating to pretend he had lost consciousness again.

Apparently no one else though it was a good idea because before he really could fall into the liberating land of sleep someone was squeezing his shoulder and another calling his name.

"Gaius said we should give him the potion when he wakes up." Whoever was nearest to his head was speaking far too loudly for his liking. Merlin guessed the voice belonged to Leon, poised and focused as always, but he didn't trust himself when he was in such a state.

"Did he wake up?" That was Elyan.

"Yes." Percival – never one to milk his words.

"Are you sure?"

"He opened his eyes."

"Gaius said he's already done that twice today."

The voices blended together as Merlin tried to work out why he had seen six people when he could only hear three. He must have drifted out of consciousness again because his memory seemed to skip ahead a few minutes. The knights were still bickering, but about something else entirely now.

"I'm not telling him."

"Why does it have to be me?"

"You're second in command."

"Percival can do it."

"No."

"Maybe we should just get Arthur to do it."

"He's busy."

"One excuse of many, Leon. You know he can't face what he did."

This went on for a ridiculous amount of time, in which Merlin must have zoned out of awareness and into oblivion, not really paying much attention to what they were saying but wishing he could understand it. The whole castle seemed to shudder at each loud grumble of thunder. Lightening always seemed to follow, applauding its predecessor before illuminating the sky with fantastic flashes of silver. Merlin didn't know how to tell them apart sometimes, when his grip on reality slipped ever so slightly, but it was much easier to tell the crashes from the crackles than the knights from each other. He learned to focus on the gentle lullaby of the rain instead, soothing his flurried thoughts, until a particularly loud bang from _inside _Gaius' chambers shocked him awake once more.

"Is he awake yet?" He knew the owner of _that _voice. It was Arthur, in all his pratish glory, trying – and failing, Merlin smugly added – to mask any hint of concern that might slip into his demand.

"We don't know." Now he was more alert, he could also distinguish that voice as Elyan's.

"You don't know?" Merlin could just imagine the way Arthur was looking at the three – was there three of them? – knights, with the condescending furrow of his brown and pout of his lips that made most people feel like illiterate idiots. Thankfully, Merlin wasn't most people.

"Well, he opened his eyes for a little while, but nothing else."

"Nothing?" Arthur questioned, fighting a loosing battle to keep his voice from shaking slightly as he spoke.

"No, sire."

The sigh Arthur let out was both frustrated and sorrowful. "Make sure I'm informed of any change."

"Yes, sire."

Merlin heard Arthur's boots scuffing against the floor as he turned around, but before any more doors were slammed the last person he expected to speak up did.

"What are you going to say to him?" Percival asked. There was a hidden challenge in the question, a subtle anger. It surprised Merlin to hear him speak in such a way.

"I'll tell him whatever he needs to know," Arthur replied. "Is that all?"

"No," Percival continued. "When are you going to let Gwaine out of the cells?"

_Why was Gwaine in the cells? _He wished he could open his eyes and speak, ask questions and get plausible answers, but his body disobeyed his mind. It was like he was trapped, a blind and mute spectator to their talks.

"When he stops singing about how I will go to hell," came the short, irate answer. Then the door shut with a bang that felt as though it was splitting his skill.

Merlin's aching brain tried to make sense of all this new information – Percival was angry with Arthur, Arthur had Gwaine locked up in the cells, Gwaine was singing about Arthur going to hell – but nothing fitted together. He knew Arthur had hit him in training, but the rest of it just didn't work, didn't slot into whatever sequence he tried to put it in. He needed to _get up_, but his limbs wouldn't _listen_.

This time confusion lulled him into unconsciousness.

* * *

Merlin drifted for a while. At first, it was dark still; then light came, the sun bright and bold as it peeked momentarily through the cover of dark clouds that scattered the sky. Darkness followed again sometime after that, but it was the hushed, incomplete kind – not quite late enough to shadow the land, but enough for Gaius to have lit a couple of candles.

During his brief stints of confused consciousness, someone forced him to drink water, although he wasn't entirely sure that was all it was. Someone else tried to get him to eat, but he turned it down. His stomach lurched as though it would empty if there was actually anything in it.

This time, however, he found he was left alone. Whoever else was in the room didn't seem to realize he had woken. It was still raining when he was finally lucid enough to open his eyes fully. A sapphire dusk had fallen over Camelot and the room was comfortably dark when he searched it from his position on the patient bed. He couldn't tell how long he had been asleep for.

"… Still in the cells," someone was saying. Leon, perhaps? Yes, it was Leon. "It's cold and it's wet. Arthur won't let anyone down there to even speak with him, so he had no idea how Merlin is. He'll go crazy; and if he doesn't loose his mind, he'll get ill."

"Have you tried speaking to Arthur?" Gaius asked – he would recognize the wise voice of his mentor anywhere.

"We all have. He won't listen." It was quiet for a moment. The knight seemed to be waiting for something. "I don't think he's making his own decisions."

The soft grounding of a pestle against a mortar stopped. "What do you mean?"

"Lord Agravaine. He…" Merlin heard Leon shuffle. "Arthur only listens to him."

"And you think that he shouldn't?"

Silence. Then Leon's deep, uncertain breathing resumed. "I don't know."

No words were exchanged for a while after that. It gave Merlin a chance to piece together this conversation with the last he had heard – it sounded like Agravaine was the one behind Gwaine's imprisonment, at least indirectly. Arthur might be calling the shots, but he was a puppet on Agravaine's strings.

Gaius broke the silence. "Is food being taken to Gwaine?"

"Yes."

"Well, you could always ask a servant to tell him about Merlin's condition."

Merlin forced his heavy eyes open. It felt like someone was chiseling his skull, a constant, unrelenting pounding against his forehead. Grimacing, he shuffled slightly in the patient bed he was lying in so he could see where the voices were coming from. It took him a while to focus and even longer to realized there was only two of them, not four. He had been seeing double – that explained the unequal voice-to-knight ratio the last time he was conscious.

Gaius was mixing some kind of potion at his desk, while Leon stood near the steps to Merlin's small room with crossed arms and a concerned look to mirror his tense stance. Upon hearing Merlin's drowsy shifting, their heads snapped around to where he lay. Gaius put the pestle on his desk and moved quickly towards Merlin with the same urgency as Leon.

"Merlin," Gaius said, voice full of relief. "How do you feel?"

They waited in anxious anticipation as Merlin fumbled for words. His brain was giving orders again, but his body disobeyed. A cough scratched his dried throat.

"My… my head," he managed to mumble.

"Leon, hand me that vial," Gaius said. "The one with the green potion inside, please."

Leon grabbed the vial Gaius had pointed out and handed it to the old man, a look of disturbed distaste on his face as he watched the physician examine the liquid before helping his ward sit up. He then placed the concoction in Merlin's hand. For a while, Merlin simply stared at the oddly-colored potion – it was a mixture between boogey and bug green, with a few random red seeds floating on the top, and Leon had decided that he never wanted to so much as smell it – and then at Gaius inquisitively.

"For the pain," Gaius explained.

Merlin drowned it down and quickly regretted it, spluttering on the fowl, acidic taste of the disgusting liquid. Leon smiled sympathetically and handed him a cup of water. Merlin used it to wash away the almost-as-hideous-as-the-initial-try aftertaste and cool the aching in his parched throat before falling back down on the pillows. The pain in his head was already dulling slightly and his arm was now only mildly uncomfortable.

"Where's Arthur?" Merlin asked quietly.

"In his chambers."

"I need to talk to him." Merlin tried to use his uninjured arm to sit up, but the world whirled dangerously around him. It dipped and twisted like the bed was spiraling in disorganized circles, his stomach swirling with each imagined motion until he had no choice but to lie back down.

Leon was looking at Gaius worriedly. "I… I'll fetch him for you."

The door closed a moment later, leaving Gaius and Merlin to talk more freely.

Merlin closed his eyes against the nauseating spinning. "There was no spell, was there?"

"Spell?"

"Arthur wasn't enchanted when he did this."

Gaius was quiet for a moment. Then, softly, "No."

"I need to talk to him." Merlin's eyes opened with slightly more vigor this time.

When he tried to get up again, Gaius put a hand against his shoulder and forced him back down onto the bed. "Leon has gone to inform him that you are awake."

"But I…" Merlin frowned dizzily. "I… I need to go to… he needs…"

"You will do no such thing," Gaius insisted. "Now lie back. You shouldn't be moving around yet."

"Arthur…"

"Will come shortly."

Merlin accepted this answer and stopped struggling. For a while he lay still, breathing deeply in the silence of the room, before asking, "How long has it been?"

"Two days."

"How long has it been since Arthur put Gwaine in the cells?"

For a while, Gaius said nothing. He studied his ward with worry, considering his words carefully. Merlin, for the time being, seemed content with simply lying in the bed and doing nothing but staring up at the ceiling as though he didn't even expect an answer.

Or perhaps he was preparing himself for what Gaius would reveal, putting up barricades in his mind against whatever hideous tumble of emotions would come with the awful answer. Merlin didn't want to be angry with Arthur – at least not because of what he had done to _him_, but to have Gwaine put in the cells during the worst storm since Merlin's arrival in Camelot was a whole other issue. He wanted to know _why_. What had Gwaine done to deserve the treatment Arthur reserved for his enemies, for those who opposed or endangered him? Surely, whatever Gwaine had done, he didn't deserve to be left in the dark, damp, dismal cells with nothing but moody guards and hellish songs to keep him company.

How far had Arthur's trust in Agravaine gone?

_But what if it wasn't Agravaine_, a pessimistic voice whispered in the back of Merlin's muddled mind. What if Arthur had been pushed and pulled, twisted and turned so much by betrayal and hurt that he had turned into the man Merlin always feared he would become – his father.

No. He wouldn't jump to such conclusions, not before Gaius told him the truth.

"Gwaine was furious with Arthur for what he done to you," Gaius finally said. "They fought, and Arthur had him put in the cells."

"He's been in there since?"

"Yes."

Merlin pushed at the invisible barriers keeping him down on the bed. His bones creaked and his muscles stretched, appreciative of the movement, of the freedom. Hissing against the pain in his arm, Merlin swung his legs over the side of the bed and had almost summoned enough strength to push himself of the bed when Gaius was gripping his shoulder.

"Merlin," the old man said warningly. "Lie down."

"What's taking him so long?" Merlin demanded.

The door flew open before Gaius could reply. Four knights and their king tumbled through the doorway, Gwaine and Arthur both scrambling to get inside first. Well, _that _answered his question.

* * *

"Arthur," Agravaine was saying. He sounded so utterly convincing Arthur found himself compelled to listen. "You are doing the right thing."

Arthur didn't look away from the window. Droplets of rain danced down the glass, their movements sharp and sudden one moment then drowsy and delayed the next. The storm had already drenched the courtyard bellow, soaking over the cobbled stones and forming puddles that seemed to double in size every time he looked away to watch those who dared go out in this abysmal weather. They ran with their hoods up, though they were already soaked through by the time they came into Arthur's line of vision. He wondered what they were doing, why they bothered going outside when the storm was still raging so mightily. Arthur concluded that they all had important errands to run. The rain was cold and he thought he could see some passer-byers shivering; if they weren't doing something urgent, they were mad.

He soon found his mind wondering to the knight he currently held prisoner. There was a slight chill in the air that would only multiply in the dark, closed-off cells. If the courtyard was flooded, some of that water must have dribbled into the cells too, which was probably making Gwaine's stay thoroughly unpleasant. He would be cold. Hungry, too. And angry, not to mention worried – worried because Agravaine insisted he was a threat, that no one should visit him, so he had no idea how Merlin was. If it were Arthur who had been locked up by his own king and kept in the dark over the condition of his best friend, he would have gone crazy by now.

It was these thoughts that drove Arthur to question his uncle again, only to have Agravaine convince him otherwise.

"Arthur?" Agravaine questioned when Arthur had been silent for far longer than usual, wearing that guilty, contemplating look that always seemed to thwart his and Morgana's plans.

Arthur turned away from the window. "Is he really that much of a threat?"

"He threatened the welfare of his king," Agravaine replied. "And would not hesitate to do so again. It is only wise that you keep him detained until a suitable punishment is arranged."

"Punishment?"

Agravaine chuckled in disbelief. "Surely you will not allow his actions to go unpunished."

"He's been in the cells for two days, uncle," Arthur said.

"You must send a message to the people that you will not tolerate disobedience."

"Must I not be merciful too?"

Arthur nearly missed the flash of annoyance in Agravaine's eyes. Almost. "Guinevere's betrayal has portrayed you as weak, Arthur; if you do not prove to them that you are still the strong and reliable king that they want - that they _need _- then I fear what will become of the kingdom. You must regain their trust."

Trust. Arthur hated that word. Where had it ever gotten him in the past?

"You have made mistakes, yes, but they can be righted. Sir Gwaine will remain in the cells until you have found a replacement for Merlin, and things will soon be return to normal," Agravaine continued with a smile Arthur wasn't sure he found reassuring. "I would hate for you to loose your peoples' devotion because of foolish errors."

His uncle made it sound so simple. All he had to do was regain his peoples' trust, ensure they still believed in him. Arthur needed to show them that he was strong and reliable and in control. That he was still a good king, and a good man.

Only he didn't believe it himself. After Guinevere's betrayal, his confidence had shattered right alongside his heart. He didn't know who to trust, where to turn, and Agravaine was all he had left of his mother. He could rely on Agravaine, couldn't he? Agravaine wouldn't betray him.

But to believe in Agravaine was to believe in holding his friends captive in cold, damp cells; to believe that firing Merlin was the only way to deal with what had happened on the training field, that diverting the blame from himself was the only reasonable thing to do. Because if he didn't do it then his people would loose their trust, and that couldn't happen – the kingdom would crumble, everything his father worked so hard for would be lost.

He didn't know what to do anymore. Frenzied emotions collided manically in his aching chest, forming automated responses that were so easily controlled by others. Since Guinevere's betrayal, his life had turned into a nightmare that he feared - but also hoped, in case it wasn't real, in case he would wake up tomorrow and everything would be normal once more - his muddled mind had fabricated, his worst fears woven together to make something so wrong and foreign to him that he was no longer sure who he was or what he was doing. Arthur lost himself after he lost Guinevere. And now the one friend he had left probably hated him too. Who could blame him, really?

Arthur needed direction. Why did he get the feeling Agravaine could no longer give him that? That his true advisor, true _friend_, was the injured manservant he had spent the last three hours before this unofficial meeting watching in case he awakened while Gaius was busy, praying he would open his eyes and say something wise that would make everything better?

He would much rather be at Merlin's bedside than here. Leon would be around if Merlin needed anything and Gaius had returned from his appointment with one of the lords when he Arthur left, but he wanted to be there just in case.

Agravaine was probably still talking, but Arthur had stopped listening a long time ago. He knew exactly where he needed to be and what he needed to do. Barging past his uncle with the same determination as the people he had seen running across the courtyard, he paced to the door and was about to open it when Sir Leon came barreling inside.

Arthur didn't know where his heart was – either his throat or his boots. That look on Leon's face could be good and bad, up or down. "Is he awake?"

Leon nodded and smiled slightly, though he seemed tense. "He's asking for you."

Merlin wanted to see him. Merlin was _asking _for him.

"Arthur," Agravaine said. _Damn it_, Arthur thought; he had almost forgotten about his uncle. "We have important matters to discuss."

"And I have important matters to see to," Arthur replied.

"You would ignore the needs of your kingdom for a mere servant?"

"You're wrong about him, uncle. He is much more than a mere servant to me, and I won't loose him, no matter what you believe. And... and I won't loose my peoples' trust if I show mercy," Arthur told him, then turned to Leon. "Leon, I… I need you to go to the cells and release Gwaine. Bring him to Gaius quarters; I wish to speak with him and I'm sure he will want to see Merlin."

Leon nodded, his grin widening. "Of course, sire."

The knight left in a happy hurry.

"Arthur," Agravaine spoke with more force now. Anger and impatience seeped into his voice. "You are making the wrong decisions."

"I won't fire him, uncle." A small smile crossed Arthur's lips – the first in a long, long time. "He's my friend. And, right now, he needs me."

And with that, Arthur left to see his friend; because if there was anything he was sure of it was that he needed Merlin as much as Merlin needed him.

* * *

Gwaine couldn't remember the last time he was this angry. He wanted to hit something. No, scratch that; he wanted to _murder _someone. And that someone just happened to be Arthur Pendragon. So what if he was the king? That didn't give him the right to mistreat Merlin. Treason be damned; Arthur was going to pay for what he'd done.

Ever after two long, dreary days in the cells he was still livid. If he'd been put in here to calm down, that plan had backfired epically. The more he sat around staring at his own shadow, the more he wanted to beat the stupidity straight out of Arthur.

By the time Percival and Elyan came to break him out at the end of the second day, he was practically bending the cell bars in an attempt to get out and maim the nearest person. The mixture of dank conditions (even by his standards), moldy food and having to pee in front of the two most annoying guards in employment nearly sent him crazy. Arthur was going to be sorry he ever hurt his friend.

As soon as Elyan had opened the cell door, he was scampering towards the staircase that lead out and up to Arthur. Before he could get anywhere near it, though, Percival had grabbed his collar like he was some kind of disobedient child and tugged him backwards with little difficulty.

"Gwaine." Percival's voice was calm, collected, not at all phased by Gwaine's desperate attempts to get past him. "You're not going to see Arthur."

"You just try and stop me!" Gwaine snapped, wriggling in his fellow knight's grip. Percival already _was _trying to stop him – and succeeding, he hated to add.

"Merlin is awake," Elyan said.

Gwaine struggling stopped instantly. Satisfied that the knight wouldn't try anything else for the time being, Percival let him go with a slight shove.

"Merlin?" Gwaine questioned worriedly. "Is he all right?"

Arthur had ordered Gwaine have no visitors, which meant he had no idea how Merlin was. For all he knew, he could be dead. Arthur had let him sit in that dingy cell and imagine all the horrible possibilities for days. If he thought Gwaine was going to overlook that, he was so, so wrong.

Elyan nodded slightly. "He had a nasty concussion and a broken arm, but he'll make a full recovery."

Gwaine let out the breath it felt like he had been holding since Merlin fell. "I need to see him."

Percival and Elyan exchanged worried looks.

"What?" Gwaine asked, eyes narrowing.

"Arthur doesn't know we've let you out," Elyan explained hesitantly.

"You mean to say you broke me out? Against the king's orders?"

"Yes," Percival replied.

A brilliant smile curled Gwaine's lips. "You are true friends. Now, let's get this breakout truly underway. After you, Percy."

"First, you must swear to us that you will not attack Arthur again," Percival said, extending his arm to block Gwaine's path.

"You know I don't make promises I can't keep."

"We don't want to see you banished again," Elyan reasoned.

"I won't allow him to get away with what he's done!" Gwaine exclaimed.

Elyan flinched. "You know Arthur didn't mean to hurt Merlin."

"Just like he didn't mean to lock me in a cell for two days?"

"I'm angry too." Percival spoke evenly, astoundingly sensible for someone so frustrated and, worse still, disappointed – disappointed in the man he had pledged his allegiance to, whose kingdom he swore to protect with his life. "But lashing out will not make anyone fell any better. If anything, it will only make things worse. Once you have seen Merlin, then you can _speak _with Arthur."

Gwaine considered this for a while. Then, with a quick sigh, he patted Percival on the shoulder and made for the stairs. "All right. Fine. I'll behave. Now come on."

As they made their way up the stairs, Elyan explained how they had broken Gwaine out of the cells without alerting Arthur to their plans – it had taken some interesting, if slightly disturbing bribes and a few convenient distractions from the rodent residents of the castle, but they had pulled it off with little difficulty.

Soon, the conversation had returned to Merlin. Gwaine wanted to know if Arthur had spoken with him yet. Percival had hesitantly told him that no, he hadn't, but Leon would make sure he did. Leon hadn't known of their plans to free Gwaine, though Elyan had told him they were sneaking in to visit him. It was Leon who told them that Merlin had woken and had been on his way to tell Arthur.

They didn't know Arthur was currently on his way to Gaius' chambers too.

Their luck continued when they reached the corridors. The patrolling guards didn't give them a second glance and the one knight they ran into was easily convinced that Arthur had warranted Gwaine's release. Soon, they had reached the stairs leading up to one last corridor and then Gaius' quarters. They climbed quickly. It was easy and a little _too_ uncomplicated.

That's why Percival wasn't all that surprised when they were faced with a very real, very royal problem: Arthur.

"What are you doing here?" Gwaine snarled.

"I'm here to see Merlin," Arthur replied. He didn't seem particularly angry that Gwaine wasn't in the cells. "What are you doing here? Where's Leon?"

As if summoned by Arthur, Leon appeared in the corridor. "Sire, Gwaine isn't-oh." Leon frowned at Gwaine. "You're here."

"Of course I'm here," Gwaine snapped. "I needed to see Merlin."

"I need to speak with him alone," Arthur said.

Gwaine crossed his arms over his chest. "No."

Arthur didn't say anything else; he was at the door in a second and preparing to open it, not wanting to cause anymore conflict, not when Merlin needed him, was _asking _for him. He knew that stance - Gwaine was going to get angry and he was going to argue. But before he could get inside, Gwaine was pushing him out of the way. They both lost their balance and tumbled inside, stumbling over the flagstones as they struggled to regain their balance. When they did find their feet, they were looking directly at the one man they both wanted to see: Merlin.

* * *

The room seemed to tense once the Arthur and knights had regained their footing. Gwaine crossed his arms menacingly over his chest again. Percival was watching him with concern, as if waiting for him to attack. Elyan was more focused on Merlin, looking gladder to see him awake than he was worried about the impending confrontation. Leon was the only one who concentrated on Arthur the same way Merlin did, watching the way the king's stance changed from driven to thoroughly lost in the blink of an eye.

Arthur stood there looking very much alone. A sudden look of uncertainty enveloped his features, the one that he turned to Agravaine with – he didn't particularly know what he was doing and Merlin could see the internal battle in his blue eyes. It was the least confident and most conflicted Merlin had ever seen Arthur. He couldn't recall the last time the king's emotions had been so muddled yet unusually out there.

"Merlin, mate," Gwaine finally said. "You all right?"

"Fine," Merlin replied.

"Good." Gwaine smiled. Then launched himself at Arthur.

Gwaine threw Arthur against the wall with a feral grunt, balling his fists around the red fabric of the king's shirt and pinning him to the stone. There was something manic about the way Gwaine glared at Arthur, like a madman with nothing to lose.

"You put me in the cells," Gwaine hissed through bared teeth.

Arthur felt angry too. He'd let Gwaine out. What more did the man want? "You threatened the life of your king."

"Sire." Leon moved forward nervously, unsure of what to do.

"Stay out of this," Arthur ordered.

"You hurt Merlin!" Gwaine shouted as if he had heard neither of them, drawing one of his fisted hands back as if to strike

"Gwaine," a small, but by no means weak, voice came from somewhere behind them. Merlin had managed to stand and was walking to them with the wobbling legs of a newborn fowl, though the determination of the mother forcing it to walk. "Stop."

Gwaine's knuckles were white. "He hurt you!"

"I know," Merlin said calmly.

Gwaine's hands begun to shake. He looked venerable, scared. "He put me in a cell for two days. I didn't even know if you were alive!"

Arthur tried to raise his hands into a surrender. "I'm sor-"

"How would you like it?" Gwaine growled, regaining some of his previous certainty. "How would you like it if you had to spend days alone in the cell of your own damn castle? How would you like it if you spent days not knowing if your best friend was all right, if the king you had sworn loyalty killed him or not? _How would you like it_?"

"Do you think I don't know how it feels?" Arthur countered heatedly.

"Then why did you do it?"

"I don't know!" Arthur cried, but when he spoke next, how words were softer, full of dejection; "I don't _know _anymore."

Hollow silence followed the broken confession. The only sound was Gwaine's ragged breathing as he stared at Arthur, a look of tortured indecision contorting his features into a mask of forlorn and pain. Arthur looked him straight in the eye, his own emotions laid bare – the loss, the betrayal, the insecurity; it was there for all to see.

Gwaine took a shaking step backwards, towards where Merlin now stood. Arthur remained where he was, back to the wall, and the only movements he made were the heavy rise and fall of his chest. He looked almost startled by what he had revealed, fearful of what the knights would think. He looked ashamed and venerable, young but already tested by life.

Then, slowly, Arthur moved towards the stone stairs to his left. He lowered himself onto the fourth step, legs balancing on the third, and pressed his elbows to knees and fingers to the bridge of his nose. His shoulders rose and fell with labored breaths, tense with trapped emotions.

"I'm sorry," Gwaine said eventually, earnest, even if he sounded slightly reluctant. "Not for punching you, you deserved that. But… I am sorry for what I said about Guinevere."

Arthur's shoulders fell and he raised his head. "I'm the one who should apologize. I…" He shook his head, expression pained. "Since Gwe-since _she _left, I'm… angry. I don't know what to do – and it feels like everything I _do _do is wrong. Like locking you in the cells or…" Arthur looked at Merlin and motioned vaguely in his direction, as if to indicate what he had done. "I trusted her, just like I trusted everyone else. And she betrayed me, like everyone else."

The only sound was Arthur moving on the steps.

"I know that's no excuse," Arthur continued. "What I've done… I don't know what to say except that I'm sorry. To all of you." His eyes moved to each knight, then to the floor again. "I only hope that, in time, you can forgive me."

"Sire." Percival stepped forward so that he was standing nearer to his king and next to Leon, broad shoulders raised in what Arthur was shocked to recognize as pride. "_Arthur._ We will not betray you."

Leon bowed his head in agreement. "I will always been loyal to you. You have made mistakes, that I cannot deny, but I believe you will make them right.

Elyan moved to stand by Percival and Leon's side. "I am loyal to you also. And I understand, more than anyone, what it is like to miss her."

Arthur bowed his head. "I'm sorry."

"You can apologize for as long as you want." Gwaine's turn. "Really, I'm not going to stop you."

Percival and Elyan both turned to look at him.

"_But_," Gwaine added. "It might take… longer, but I can forgive you. I won't forget, Arthur, but I will forgive. And so long as Merlin is loyal to you, I am too."

Arthur nodded, looking up. "Thank you, all of you."

Gwaine looked over his shoulder at Merlin, who was observing the scene with a glad smile, and then back to Arthur. "I think you two have some _matters_ to discuss. I'll be in the tavern if anyone needs me. First rounds on you, Percy."

"If I remember correctly, its Elyan's round," Percival replied with a chuckle.

Elyan smirked deviously. "We'll see about that."

"I better accompany you," Leon announced. "In case you get into trouble again."

Gwaine rolled his eyes, but he thumped Leon on the shoulder with a large grin. He nodded to Merlin, who smiled in gratitude and happiness and nodded back, then turned to leave. Similar exchanges followed between Merlin and the other knights, before they left for the tavern together.

"Sire." Gaius rose from his seat across the room. "I must check on Sir Ector."

"Of course," Arthur said from his seat on the steps.

Gaius bowed slightly. "I will leave you to talk."

The door closed, leaving the warlock and his king to their matters.

* * *

Confidence. Arthur was becoming less familiar with its modest presence, but he recognized it now as it swept through his chest. His knights had pledged their loyalty to him despite all he had done, and he vowed that they wouldn't regret it. With their confidence in him, Arthur found his own returning to him along with a feeling of worth, of reason and, above all, a feeling of family. They were brothers in all but blood, friends above all else, and he was privileged to have them at his side.

A newfound courage came with this new conviction. He could and would do this. Looking up, he prepared to tell Merlin just how sorry he was when…

Merlin swayed as if the ground was moving beneath him, a hazy look of pain covering his pale face. Arthur was up in an instance, taking Merlin's uninjured arm and leading him quickly but carefully towards the bed. Gently, he pushed the servant onto the bed and rested a hand on his right shoulder as he flinched in time to Merlin's pained, uneven breaths. For a while, they stayed that way, a thousand unspoken comforts translated into the small, simple gesture of Arthur's hand on Merlin's shoulder. For a while, they didn't need to say anything.

"Have you eaten?" Arthur asked. Merlin shook his head. "I'll get you something."

"No, Arthur-" Merlin protested weakly, but the king was already prancing around the room in search of something edible. He watched in alarm as Arthur examined frog innards Gaius had stored in a jar as if he was actually considering feeding them to Merlin. "Those are frog intestines."

Arthur grinned wickedly. "I know."

"_Inedible_ frog intestines," Merlin emphasized.

"Payback, for that rat stew you gave me."

"You liked it!"

Arthur rolled his eyes dramatically, but had moved away from Gaius' collection of animal appendages to search one of the cupboards that did store actual food. He pulled a loaf of bread from inside with an enthusiastic "Ah ha!" and placed it on a metal plate. With the same caring caution, he took Merlin's arm again and kept him on his feet until they reached the table. Sitting opposite each other, Merlin picked at the bread while Arthur plucked at all the words he had meant to say before. Looking at the pain Merlin was in – the pain _he _had caused him – made it so much harder to face what he had done.

"Merlin," he begun quietly, earlier jokes forgotten. "I'm sorry."

Merlin smiled that small, patient smile, filled with subtle sadness and unwavering devotion, the one that made Arthur wonder how someone so clumsy, so downright _foolish_ could be so wise sometimes. "It's all right. I forgive you."

"Why?"

"What?"

"_Why_?" Arthur's stool skidded across the floor as he stood with desperate haste. Merlin doubted he even realized he was pacing, hands moving animatedly as he spoke. "I don't deserve your forgiveness. What I did to you was inexcusable. It never should have happened; I never should have gone that far. I hurt you, Merlin. What if you hadn't woken up? What if…"

"Arthur," Merlin said. "_Arthur_, I'm all right. And I forgive you, whether you think you deserve it or not."

Arthur fell back onto the stool looking younger, more venerable. "The knights forgave me too."

"I know."

"After everything I've done, all the mistakes I've made, they forgave me. _You _forgave me."

Merlin smiled. "I'll always forgive you, Arthur. I told you I'm happy to be your servant, until the day I die; I intend to keep that promise."

The king shook his head. "I don't understand."

"I think you do."

Two sets of blue eyes met. "What?"

"I'm your friend, Arthur; you know that."

That sat in silence for a while. Arthur took his time processing what Merlin had just told him, analyzing the words carefully. There was no betrayal there, no deception hidden in Merlin's kind eyes. Merlin was right; he had known. He had known all along.

"And I yours," Arthur said slowly, as if scared by the words, but there was something liberating about telling Merlin the truth. "I don't want to lose you."

"You won't," Merlin insisted. "I promise you, Arthur, I will be at your side until the day I die."

"I appreciate that."

The peace that followed was calmly companionable. They didn't need to fill it, but something was niggling away at Arthur's mind, something he wasn't sure he wanted to say out loud until he did.

"I don't think I should be taking advice from Agravaine anymore," Arthur admitted, running a hand over his stubble-dotted jaw. "I need to start making my own decisions."

"You need to trust yourself," Merlin said. "Arthur, the knights believe in you, in the Camelot you strive to build – that is why they remain so loyal to you."

"But my people-"

"Feel the same way. Whatever Agravaine might have told you about them loosing their faith in you is _wrong_. You are a great king, Arthur, and they believe and trust in you. Now you must do the same."

"How?"

"I can't tell you that," Merlin answered honestly. "It's for you to find, but I know you can do it."

Arthur was quiet for a moment. Then, "Merlin?"

"Yeah?"

The king made sure he was looking his friend straight in the eye when he said, "Thank you."

Merlin smiled at him, and he smiled back. Arthur had made mistakes, but he had also made them right. It was going to get better. Whatever happened, it would get better, and he would _feel _better. He knew what he had to do know, understood what direction he needed to take. It was all suddenly so clear, so uncomplicated. If he ever needed an advisor, he _knew _Merlin would be there.

And Merlin would always be there, no matter what.

* * *

_The End_

* * *

Alright, I don't know about this part. I don't know if it fits together. At first, I intended to have all the knights visit Merlin separately, but that was even longer than it is now. There was also a sword fight between Arthur and Gwaine, but then I realised that it was a bit over the top to have Gwaine attempt treason. So that bit was cut. Still, I don't know if I like this version. The fight was fun to write in the other version - maybe I'll use it another time. Let me know what you thought and anymore prompts would be greatly appreciated :)


	7. Portents and Prophecies: Part I

**A/N: **there will be more Merlin whumpage in this story because, like me, you all seem to find our favorite warlock's pain sadistically enjoyable. _However_, that will come in the later parts (possibly the next one) - this is just setting the scene. There's not much action in this part, but I wanted to post something, so here it is.

**Title: **Portents and Prophecies

**Author: **FlYiNgPiGlEtS

**Summary: **a guests' arrival in Camelot puts Merlin on high alert after a terrifying prophecy.

**Ratings**: T

**Characters: **Merlin, Arthur, Gwen, the knights and Gaius. Also a few OCs.

**Pairings: **no slash. Gwen/Arthur.

**Spoilers: **no big ones, unless Gwen and Arthur's marriage counts. Set between series 4 and 5.

**Warnings: **blood… lots of blood. More in later parts, probably.

**Disclaimer: **unfortunately, I don't own Merlin; it belongs to the BBC and Shine.

* * *

**VI: **_Portents and Prophecies__: Part I_

Merlin didn't remember how he had gotten to Arthur's chambers or even why he was there. He didn't understand where the intense feeling of intoxication had come from or what this strangely familiar man was doing in Camelot, but he knew as soon as he got there that he was too late.

Something blurred his vision – tears or terror, he couldn't tell which – as he rushed forward, but part of him was glad that he didn't see what happened next in vivid detail. It was almost as if he wasn't really there, watching behind the color-stained windows like the cruel dictators of fate, who he was sure must have been laughing. Laughing at Merlin's stupidity, at how he let a complex meal turn into a simple murder.

The knife pierced Arthur's gut soundlessly and the king stared wide-eyed at his murderer. Then, with a simple twist of his tattooed wrist, the dark, burly man turned the knife in a small circle. There was a squelch and a surprised grunt of pain before the bloodied blade clattered the floor and Arthur's legs gave way. He clutched at his side desperately, clawing at the wound as though that would stop the cascade of blood that now stained his white tunic, but his attempts to save himself were futile. The King of Camelot fell quickly and Merlin knew, before he even hit the flagstones, that Arthur was dead.

With a sorrowful cry, Guinevere collapsed beside Arthur. Blood stained her dress and hands as she begged him to wake up, shook his shoulders and clutched his limp body, but Arthur didn't move. He was gone.

Merlin didn't use his magic. He didn't know why he just watched, just let it happen, and kneeled in the blood with Gwen when it was over. But he did. His own salty tears mingled with Arthur's coppery blood as he sobbed beside his body, doing nothing but stare as Gwen begged him to _do something_.

Merlin did nothing.

The man, _Arthur's_ _murderer_, towered over them, black eyes bearing into Merlin. His grin was malicious, victorious, filled with a sick satisfaction similar to that of a hunter's after he caught his prey. It was the smirk of someone who had won, who had got all they needed, and Merlin watched wordlessly as he swooped away as if to claim his prize. There was a crown to seize with the king gone and his queen venerable, and he was going to take it.

Merlin did nothing.

* * *

It was ironic, really, that when all the magical attacks on Camelot, and all the mythical creatures that wanted a taste of the king, and Morgana had finally stopped, Merlin couldn't sleep.

He had spent the last five-something years working and worrying, casting spells and cleaning armor, reading books and riding dragons – every tiring, time-consuming activity in existence. With Camelot in a rare period of peace and prosperity, when all these tasks were far less frequent, now was the perfect time to make up for all those sleepless nights and busy days. Arthur had settled into married life with Gwen and was happy to leave his manservant to the odd lie-in so long as he reported for duty by noon, after the king and queen had spent their rare moments of solitude snuggling under the morning sun. What could possibly go wrong?

Of course, it wasn't that he didn't want to sleep – at least, not at first. If there was a safe spell he could have preformed or a potion that didn't rise and taste like bile he could have taken, then he would be getting the hours in by now. Unfortunately for him, though, there wasn't and, in the end, it was down to unbridled exhaustion to lull him into oblivion.

What he saw there made him wish he had taken all those odd-colored potions, cast all those dangerous spells, so he would have slept deeply enough to avoid the nightmare that found him under that mesmerizing full moon.

And so it was a dream – an unimaginable awful dream that shattered Merlin's heart into a thousand panicked pieces that only slotted back into place again when, the next morning, he found Arthur perfectly alive and quite literally kicking – that set it all into motion.

When Merlin woke panting and sweating that early morning, the image of Arthur lying in a pool of his own blood and Guinevere sobbing at his side still fresh in his frantic mind, he knew his – and Camelot's – luck had run out.

* * *

_Two months later…_

* * *

Arthur didn't think there was a person out there who could ruin his good mood. In fact, it was quite possible he was the happiest man in the world. He had a beautiful wife, a flourishing kingdom and everything else he could possibly want, from the new array of deserts the kitchen were serving to the unbroken peace Camelot had settled into. All was well and Arthur found himself waking with a smile on his face and a spring in his step.

Still, there was _one _person – one big eared, cabbage-headed, clotpole of a person – who could go and disturb his much-deserved merriness. His name? Merlin.

The idiot was being incredibly _clingy _as of late, checking up on Arthur at ridiculous hours and insisting he go into rooms before the king to 'check for woodworm'. It was true that Arthur had, over the last couple of years, come to value Merlin's opinion much more – he went to Merlin with his problems more than he went to his hired advisors – but this was just plain strange, and annoying, and totally excessive if the dollophead thought Camelot would fall apart if he wasn't with Arthur _all the time_. Arthur, being the incredibly tolerable man he was, should have given Merlin a piece of his mind weeks ago.

And he would have, if he didn't notice the sullen way Merlin was acting when he wasn't bounding through the castle like a hunting dog or babbling uselessly about just how dangerous 'woodworm' was. In two short months, Merlin had changed – and not for the better.

He didn't make jokes anymore. He laughed in a forced, foreign way that made him seem more in pain than amused. At every blind corner, he seemed to tense, as if he was afraid of what he would find when they rounded it, and he watched the shadows like they were enemies.

Then there was the obvious lack of sleep. At first, Merlin had joked about it with Guinevere, claiming that he was too used being woken up before the sun had even risen by Arthur and a full pail of cold water, or doing chores all through the night. Then, after bursting into their room at an hour Arthur might have once seen as acceptable to awaken Merlin and waking them both up simply to check that they were all right, the jokes were suddenly forgotten and his restlessness gave way to the paranoia that now consumed him. Arthur didn't know what had happened in that short amount of time, but he knew that, whatever it was, it had caused Merlin to behave like _this _– quiet, wary, _scared_. That was what surprised Arthur most; how the bravest man he had ever known had transformed so quickly into the most fearful.

Arthur worried momentarily and stupidly if his marriage to Guinevere was the problem. Merlin was his best friend and they _had _been spending less time together now Arthur was a married man. But after a few well-planned hunting trips, when it had just been them, and an uninformative talk with Gaius, it became clear that the problem was much deeper than him neglecting their friendship.

There had been no sign of Morgana for months now. Camelot was settled, strong, safe; any attack seemed unlikely and, if one was to occur, they would be well prepared to deal with it. If that was what had Merlin so worried, then he was getting worked up about nothing. It was true that Arthur had gone through a similar period of worrying obsessively if the peace was just a decoy for some massive, merciless attack, but his concerns had soon be calmed by Gwen's reassurance that Morgana had lost before and would again, if she so much as dared to show her face in Camelot. It was a brief and useless phase, forgotten quickly and yet again replaced by the faith and certainty that helped the young monarch rule so well. But Merlin couldn't be reassured.

No, Merlin's fear was deeply rooted and dangerously established, and seemed to center almost completely on Arthur. Whatever was worrying the servant so much was directly linked to him.

Arthur didn't know how that made him feel. He was angry that Merlin was so distressed by something – a something he refused to talk about, so Arthur couldn't possibly hope to understand, and the less Merlin appeared to sleep or mock him or simply smile, the more infuriated the king felt. He felt guilty because he might have indirectly caused this and, whether it was his fault or not, he didn't know how to fix it. And, perhaps worst of all, he was sad – sad that Merlin keeping things from him. Sad, even, that Merlin had something so apparently sleep-preventing, world-shaking, Merlin-changing to keep from him. It wasn't fair that Merlin had to go through whatever he was going through, alone and afraid, and it made Arthur feel terrible in every way possible.

Honestly, he didn't know whether to tear his hair our or cry, let alone deal with Merlin's latest new-found phobia, or whatever one could call the servant's strange behaviour and sudden aversions. While this particular fear was a little more understandable and, admittedly, relatable he was still baffled at how adamant Merlin was about not allowing Lord Lucius anywhere near the citadel.

Guinevere had warned him about brushing Merlin's worries off. Humor him, she had said; at least listen to what he has to say. Lucius _was _the son of a notorious warlord and, if the rumors were true, living up to his father's reputation with relative ease. Arthur knew it wasn't long before Lucius became as ruthless and power-hungry as his father, a warlord himself rather than a warlord's son, and that was why this visit was so vital. They needed to make secure relations and ensure they were both in understanding over what belonged to whom soon, because if anyone was going to disturb the peace it would not, rather surprisingly, be his bumbling buffoon of a manservant, but the highly unrespectable Lord Lucius.

Still, it was hard to 'humor' Merlin when he had been rambling on for the last hour about how highly dangerous, inherently murderous and purely evil Lucius (who he had never met before, Arthur kept telling him) was. The situations Merlin continued to make up were ludicrous and improbable, and the worst part was that he was completely serious about each and every one of them. Arthur was no longer glad Merlin had finally expanded on his recent vocabulary of "got to check for woodworm", "be careful" and, most frequently, "are you sure you're all right?" (a question Arthur should have been asking Merlin, for goodness sake!). This was downright frustrating.

"_Merlin_," Arthur snapped, coming to an abrupt halt in the corridor and spinning around on the balls of his feat. "This is ridiculous; _you _are ridiculous. I don't know why you're being such a girl about this, but if you're so afraid then just take the day off! Why don't you... go to the tavern?"

When Guinevere heard of this – and Arthur was sure she would – he was going to be in big, big trouble. But it was like talking to a child and, no matter how much he himself was starting to worry about his manservant, he could not put up with it any longer.

"No!" Merlin was far to quick to reply, looking so suddenly panicked and frightened that Arthur wished he could take back everything he had said. "I need… you can't… no."

Arthur felt something inside of him soften. He wanted to comfort Merlin somehow, to tell him that it would be all right, but his irritation was wearing his imagination thin. What could he say, what could he do that he hadn't already done, to make things better? "Merlin. You really don't have to be anywhere near Lord Lucius when he arrives. Take the week off, go and do whatever you usually do and return next Monday. Just be careful – no falling on swords or drinking your own body weight in mead, understood?"

Merlin's eyes were wide and wild. "I can't."

"I'm telling you that you can."

"I don't want the week off. I need…"

"You need to do what?" Arthur asked, intending to sound sympathetic and kind and open, so maybe, just maybe, Merlin would be willing to open up to him, but it came out more frustrated than friendly.

"Nothing!"

"I'm ordering you to take the week off."

"I don't want the week off. I can't have the week off."

Arthur did his best not to punch the nearest wall. "I am giving you the chance to do whatever you want for the next seven days. Take it."

Merlin shook his head firmly. "No."

"It will be paid leave, Merlin; I will _pay _you to go to the tavern."

"No," he said, with another curt shake of his head. "_No_."

Arthur let a frustrated sigh whistle past his clenched teeth. "Fine. Two days; that's my final offer."

"I don't want time off!" Merlin cried.

"One day?"Arthur offered weakly.

"No!"

"Merlin, as your king, I _order _you to take Friday off. Lucius will be leaving then anyway."

Merlin stared at him for a while after that, as if calculating whether it was a risk worth taking to have the day off. Then, looking weary and worried, he finally nodded. "All right."

"Good." Arthur tried to smile, but it was tightened by his growing concern for Merlin. "Now, back to Lord-"

"Sire!"

Merlin startled visibly at the sound of the servant's shrill voice and Arthur turned quickly to where the young boy had come to a sweaty, panting halt, clutching his knees as he recovered from running to them.

"What is it?" Arthur demanded.

"Sir Leon sent me, sire," the servant heaved. "Lord Lucius has arrived."

Arthur's eyes widened. Lucius wasn't supposed to be here for at least another day. "Where is he now?"

"The throne room, sire."

"Thank you." The servant nodded and scurried off, and Arthur turned to look at Merlin, who had gone pale. "My offer still stands."

A new, if slightly frightened determination clouded Merlin's wide eyes. "And my answer is still no."

Arthur nodded and, together, they set off for the throne room.

* * *

Guinevere was waiting in the throne room when they arrived. She was looking rather certain and regal, Merlin noted proudly. Standing there, with that strong but welcoming smile on her lips and that unwavering determination in her dark eyes, she looked so unlike the broken queen he had seen in his dream.

_No_, he thought bitterly; _prophecy_.

There was quite a large crowd, a mixture of Camelot's red and Lord Lucius' leathery black, and Merlin found himself lost in it as he desperately tried to watch what Arthur was doing and who went near him. The king was making his way through the crowd as if he hadn't only just discovered Lucius had arrived a day early and was soon standing beside Gwen near their respective thrones.

A tall man stood before them, his entire physique impossible muscular and broad, and Merlin should have found the momentarily nervous look that crossed Arthur's face as he too realized just how easily the man could crush him humorous, if he wasn't so focused on something else. Spiraling from underneath the various leather garments Lord Lucius wore were black markings, forming sharp, crescent curves in dark ink along his large arms. To anyone else, it may have looked like some kind of tradition bought over from the continent, but Merlin recognised what it was almost instantly. Magic.

The patterns that spanned Lucius' body were runes, marks of the Old Religion. Each one meant something different, though they were all of enhancing nature, drawn for protection and strength and various other unnatural abilities. Merlin recognized the one on the back of his neck; it was the symbol of immortality.

Engulfed by servants and courtiers alike, Merlin watched as Arthur and Lucius shook hands in greeting. More runes circled his wrists, forming an odd black bracelet against his tanned skin, and horror pooled into Merlin's stomach.

The runes were enchanted to give him unbeatable strength and heightened reflexes, but it wasn't their meanings that caught Merlin's attention. He had seen them before, not just in one of Gaius' old books, but…

_The dagger sliced at Arthur's abdomen quickly, easily, and it was almost believable that the entry was so swift and sudden than the king felt no pain. Then, with the power he had refrained from using at first, Lucius twisted the knife around once and Arthur let out a muffed cry of pain. Agony twisted his fair features and Merlin knew then that Arthur's death would not be painless._

_In one sudden movement, Lucius pulled the knife out and Arthur fell to his knees._

Across the throne room, two familiar black eyes caught his attention. It felt like Lucius was looking right at him, through him. A shiver ran down his spine.

Kilgharrah was right; his prophecy would come to pass.

* * *

_End of Part I_

* * *

So there is was - the scene-setting. It will get better, I promise. Action and whump coming up!

Reviews and prompts always welcome :)


	8. Portents and Prophecies: Part II

**A/N: **argh, it's been a while! I'm sorry!

And, apology number two – there is no whump in this chapter, only another healthy helping of angst and tension-building-up-ness. It would have been included in this part, if it hadn't gotten so long. But I promise you that things will defiantly start getting exciting and whumpy in the next chapter. Promise! And, the next part is progressing much better than this one did, so will hopefully be up soon.

**Title: **Portents and Prophecies

**Author: **FlYiNgPiGlEtS

**Summary: **Merlin learns more about Camelot's mysterious visitors.

**Ratings**: T

**Characters: **Merlin, Arthur, Gwen, the knights and Gaius. Also a few OCs.

**Pairings: **no slash. Gwen/Arthur.

**Spoilers: **no big ones, unless Gwen and Arthur's marriage counts. Set between series 4 and 5. A few quotes I stole from series 5 (including the finale).

**Warnings: **some blood… okay, lots of blood. But not in this chapter.

**Disclaimer: **unfortunately, I don't own Merlin; it belongs to the BBC and Shine.

* * *

**VI: **_Portents and Prophecies: Part II_

Arthur hated surprises. And this particular one was, to say the least, infuriatingly unhelpful and completely unexpected, not to mention unplanned. The citadel staff were only half ready for the arrival of Lord Lucius and, other than bickering with Merlin for the better part of that morning, Arthur was not very prepared to greet the warlord himself.

His previously good mood was diminishing at an alarmingly fast rate. First Merlin, now Lucius; he should have known his break would be predictably brief. Reality was catching up with Arthur, and he didn't like it one bit.

Suddenly, all at once, there were too many things to do. And, unfortunately, first on that damnable list was Lord Lucius and his annoyingly early arrival. He would have to spend the next few days securing Lucius' trust and ensuring he became an negotiable ally, which involved an awful lot of mindless chatter about things he couldn't care less about and certainly wouldn't leave him any time to check up on Merlin who, despite his earlier bravery, looked worryingly rattled by the warlord.

It was hard to focus on anything else, let alone Lord Lucius, when Merlin was standing just across the hall looking so pale and scared. Arthur was surprised at how venerable he looked and, in that moment, wanted nothing more than to comfort his friend somehow. Whatever it took to make him better, he would do it. He would do _anything_ – was about to, even, when Guinevere squeeze his hand for the third time, bringing him back to reality, and despite the pain and anger and guilt that had taken sanctuary in his turning stomach, Arthur had no choice but to put duty first, like he had done too many times before, and greet Lucius unpracticed and annoyed.

"Lord Lucius," Arthur said finally, sure and certain, but still more focused on Merlin than the big, burly man standing in front of him, with whom he was now absently shaking hands. "Camelot is most grateful to you and your men for accepting our invitation. It is our pleasure to welcome you in peace and friendship."

Lucius nodded once, smiling in a way that sent shivers down Arthur's spine, and the king couldn't quite decipher the dark sparkle in his almost-black eyes. "The pleasure is all mine, my lord."

Arthur smiled slightly, praying that the caution slowly knotting its way around his stomach didn't show, and tensely observed as the warlord greet his wife, unnerved yet again by the way Lucius was grinning almost… greedily. Though, unlike the number of other nobles who had come to visit, he wasn't looking at Guinevere like he wanted _her_; he was looking around the throne room as if assessing it for some unknown task, and appeared incredibly pleased by what he saw.

Briefly, Arthur met Gwen's eyes and found the same apprehension there, before clearing his throat and motioning the nearest servant closer. "Gilbert, show Lord Lucius to his chambers and see to it that his needs are met."

The servant, Gilbert, bowed deeply. "Of course, sire."

"Oh, no, that won't be necessary," Lord Lucius said. "My own servant will be happy to attend to me. Isn't that right, Edgar?"

Edgar stepped forward, to stand beside Lucius, and Arthur's feeling of unease increased tenfold. He was sure he'd never seen the tall, scrawny man before – he would not have forgotten the man's shadowed, haughty face and dark, haunting eyes – but there was something about Edgar that put Arthur on edge. The servant's smirk was decidedly sinister, filled with what Arthur could only describe as malice and the same curious greed as his master, and the king knew instantly that he could trust neither man.

"It would be my pleasure," Edgar replied.

Arthur did his best to ignore the growing feeling of dread in his chest. "Well, in that case, follow me."

* * *

Arthur's day was ridiculously busy.

First, he had had to ensure Lord Lucius was satisfied with his accommodation and that he had settled in well enough. It was a boring task and only served to put him more on edge about the warlord and his strange servant. Lucius talked about Camelot as though it was his, and Arthur was starting to wonder if it was his intention to make that true.

Afterwards, there had been a number of urgent matters of state to deal with. Then he had subtly put the citadel guards on alert and helped Gwen arrange a banquet on short notice, before holding a rushed training session with his knights and a few of Lucius' men, who were almost as alarmingly strong as the warlord himself.

Despite this, it hadn't felt like a very productive day. There was still one issue he'd been forced to leave unaddressed while he made mindless chatter with Lucius, or gave his knights a good enough workout to keep them on top form, or attended a banquet that was stupidly rushed and quite frankly a disaster. That issue was Merlin.

He'd managed to get a few moments alone with Gwen between their meeting with Audrey, the head of the kitchen staff, and the afternoon training session. Merlin had rather reluctantly gone to complete an errand for Gaius, leaving them to talk, and while they usually would have savored the rare moment of loneness, it was Merlin that dominated most of their conversation. Gwen had seen the way Merlin was acting in the throne room too and they both agreed it had gone on for too long – something needed to be done, and soon. So it was decided, over some debate as to just who should be the one to talk to him, that Arthur would find out what was wrong and together they would deal with the problem in whatever way they could.

It should have been simple, if Arthur wasn't so busy, but eventually, after Gwen had gone to personally thank the kitchen staff for their help, it was just he and Merlin – the perfect opportunity.

"Merlin," Arthur said, unhesitant – he knew exactly what to say. "Sit down."

Merlin stopped building the fire and turned to stare at him. "What?"

"We need to talk." Arthur dragged the chair nearest to his out from under the table and motioned towards it. "Sit down."

Slowly, looking slightly uneasy, Merlin sat down. Arthur shifted in his chair, clasping his hands together, and took a deep breath.

"Merlin, I've long since considered you a friend, someone I can confide in," Arthur continued. "And I know that I haven't exactly – I haven't… expressed that very well in the past, but… you are a friend – a _good_ friend – and I hope that you consider me to be one too, or at least trust me enough to confide in me also."

"Arthur…"

"No, Merlin, I _know _something's been bothering you and, frankly, I've let it gone on for too long. Gwen and I – we want you to know that you're not alone and I… _I_ want you to know that you can talk to me about whatever it is. You don't have to go through it by yourself."

The fire crackled softly, but other than that the room was quiet. Merlin stared at the table, shoulders slumped and head hung, and Arthur wondered if he'd said something wrong. Then, almost shamefully, Merlin's eyes met Arthur and the king was startled to see the tears glistening there.

"I can't… I can't tell you," he choked.

Arms crossed, eyebrows draw, Arthur watching as his friend swallowed painfully and flinched away from the monarch's scrutinizing glare. Suddenly, Arthur didn't know what to say. "I want to help. I don't… I can't watch as – as you _change_. Because you have changed… and I don't want that; I want you to always be you."

A look of hurt crossed Merlin's face and Arthur realized, too late, that he _had _said something wrong this time. Speaking too fast, he blurted, "No, I don't mean – it's not a _bad _change, just... you've been behaving differently. What happened?"

"Nothing. Nothing happened."

"I'm not stupid."

"That's debatable," Merlin joked weakly, and Arthur would have danced in delight if it weren't for the tears still glistening in his manservant's eyes and the slight tremble in his voice.

"What happened, Merlin?"

"I _can't_…"

"Yes, you can! I'm your _friend_; I want to help you!" Arthur cried.

Merlin stood up in one swift, sudden movement. "I can't tell you!"

"Why not?" Arthur was on his feet too. "Whatever it is, you can tell. I will_ listen_, and I will do everything in my power to make it better, I swear, just _tell me_!"

"Lord Lucius is going to kill you!" Merlin snapped, finally, eyes widening in fear at what Arthur would say next.

Arthur sunk back into his chair, tried, and dragged his hand over his face. "I don't trust him either, but…" he looked up at his friend just in time to see the defeated, crestfallen look on his face, and quickly continued – he liked to think he knew better than to ignore Merlin by now. "What makes you think that?"

Arthur was sure the mixture of fear and forlorn Merlin seemed to be feeling was responsible for his sudden truthfulness; it was almost as though he didn't even realize what he was saying when he whispered, "I've _seen_ it" so softly Arthur almost missed those three pivotal words.

"What do you mean?"

"I had a dream – a proph-a _dream_, and I saw Lucius kill you."

"If…" Arthur took a deep breath. _Humor him_, Gwen had said. But Merlin claimed he had _dreamed _Arthur's demise at Lucius' hand. "The citadel is on high alert; if Lucius makes any move to harm me, he will be stopped and arrested immediately. I can assure you that Camelot is safe."

"No, Arthur, he-"

"I want you to take a few weeks off," Arthur said with a dejected sigh. "You need some time to... to be alone - to relax. Just look after yourself, _please_."

"No!" Merlin shouted.

"I'm sure Gaius will agree with me. Please, Merlin, I don't want to make you do anything you don't want to do, but I think you need this. I will come and check up on you in a couple of days – and if I find out you've disobeyed my orders, I'll put you in the stocks." The threat fell pathetically short.

Merlin stood and stared at the flickering fire for a while, swaying slightly and visibly trembling, and when his silence and shaking became worrying, Arthur got up too. The king put a hand on Merlin's shoulder and, after a brief moment of quiet, smiled slightly, sadly, and said, "Come on; I'll take you to Gaius."

Arthur didn't listen to his weak protests. He walked Merlin to Gaius quarters and tried not to give away how much his chest and his throat hurt, and how his eyes had begun burning with tears. Guinevere realized, though, but the pain eased slightly in her loving embrace.

* * *

It came as no surprise to Merlin that he couldn't sleep.

He had made a mistake, letting Arthur dismiss him from work, and it continued to plague his restless mind until have gave up on any kind of rest and snuck rather stealthily from Gaius' quarters. Now, as he walked aimlessly though the palace, it was still all he could think about. How was he going to protect Arthur when he was supposed to be 'resting'? He shouldn't have told Arthur about the prophecy; he'd made a mistake.

Lord Lucius was here to kill Arthur, he was sure of it, and now Merlin had given him the perfect opportunity. He wouldn't be able to protect him for afar. He was going to fail and fate was going to win.

It wasn't fair. All his hard work, everything he had done to help Arthur, would mean _nothing_; destiny would mean nothing. Merlin would lose the future he had always dreamed about, but worst of all, he would loose his friend. He _hated _how useless he felt, knowing that, and he was starting to hate himself for not trying hard enough to convince Arthur to let him stay.

He didn't know why he had left his room, but sneaking out of the citadel to let his magic free was growing increasingly more appealing as he paced the corridors. Anger ate away at his constricted chest and he needed an outlet. His magic had grown restless since the prophecy, swirling desperately as if it was just as unnerved by what he'd seen, just as ready to jump into action, and trying to contain it was getting harder and harder.

Soon, Merlin found himself nearing the courtyard, deciding that the Darkling Woods would be a good enough place to let his magic loose and already letting some of it trickle excitedly from his shaking body. Freedom, however brief it may be, was beaconing him, his magic threatening to burst free at any moment, and it felt so _good _to let go, so good to-

"Restless, Emrys?"

Merlin jumped, magic snapping back into him with such force he nearly stumbled, and turned to stare wide-eyed at Lord Lucius' servant, Edgar. How did he know that name?

Unless… Merlin had known Lucius was allied with a sorcerer. Gaius had told him that it would take someone powerful and practiced to preform such enchantments as the ones placed - or, rather, _tattooed _on the warlord; if Lucius had such a sorcerer at his disposal, they best be careful.

Gaius had also said that this sorcerer had most likely accompanied Lucius to Camelot. As soon as Merlin had seen Edgar in the throne room, he knew there was something decidedly _off _about him. He couldn't be trusted, of that much he was certain, but was it possible _Edgar _was the sorcerer? There _was _a sense of something powerful about him, a slight swirl of magic surrounding his thin body, and he did know Merlin's druid name.

"They told me you were powerful, but I didn't expect _this_," Edgar said thoughtfully. "How agonising it must be, to hide your true abilities and play the role of a mere servant. Do you never long for more?"

Studying Edgar cautiously, he said, "No."

"No?" Edgar echoed, almost surprised. "You have never considered seizing your king's power as your own? You have the ability, I'm sure."

"I am loyal to Arthur."

"I understand what it is like, to play a sorcerer in servant's clothing. And I understand temptation." Edgar smirked. "Yes, temptation and I are well acquainted."

Merlin said nothing.

"I have always wanted more, Emrys," he said. "Soon, very soon indeed, I will have it."

Edgar's smile was dark and twisted, filled with greed and spite, and he held Merlin's gaze for an uncomfortably long amount of time before turning slowly to leave. He walked with arrogance one wouldn't usually see in a servant, purposeful and driven, and Merlin was glad to see him go. But just before Edgar reached the corner at the end of the corridor, he stopped and looked over his shoulder, still smiling, and with a cocky click of his fingers lit a near-by torch that had flickered out.

The gold faded quickly from Edgar's eyes. "Perhaps you will join me."

Merlin said nothing as he watched Edgar walk away.

* * *

_End of Part II_

* * *

Okay, hope that wasn't awful. Did the bromance maybe, kind of make up for the blatant lack of promised whump? Edgar will be explained and explored some more in the next chapter, before we get to the good stuff.

Let me know how you're liking the story so far :)


	9. Portents and Prophecies: Part III

**A/N: **finally, action! And Gwaine! Just to warn you, this story is going to be _long _– I'm not sure just how long, but there are at least two more parts to it, I think. Enjoy :)

**Title: **Portents and Prophecies

**Author: **FlYiNgPiGlEtS

**Summary: **Merlin must stop his prophecy from playing out – but at what cost?

**Ratings**: T

**Characters: **Merlin, Arthur, Gwen, the knights and Gaius. Also a few OCs.

**Pairings: **no slash. Gwen/Arthur.

**Spoilers: **Set between series 4 and 5. SOME (slight) SPOILERS FOR SERIES 5 - mainly just 'The Hollow Queen'.

**Warnings: **blood. Stab wounds. Some not so nice stuff – watch out if you're squimish.

**Disclaimer: **unfortunately, I don't own Merlin; it belongs to the BBC and Shine.

* * *

**VI: **_Portents and Prophecies: Part III_

For Merlin, the next three days were hell.

A large amount of his time had been designated to the seemingly impossible task of protecting Arthur from a distance, without being caught doing the exact opposite of what he'd been ordered to do. It had never been exactly easy, keeping Arthur safe, but this was taking improbable to a whole other level.

There were three very big problems. One: he had learned rather quickly that invisibility spells were a lot harder than made out to be. Two: Gwaine was incredibly (and annoyingly) observant when he needed to be. And three: Edgar was not a normal sorcerer.

With any kind of invisibility ruled out and Gwaine checking up on him every other hour to make sure he was 'using his break wisely', he had turned his attention to Lord Lucius' servant, who, it quickly became apparent, was a very real threat, though not to him, exactly – well, that was debatable, really. Edger posed no physical threat to him, per se, but the servant _was_ becoming hazardous to Merlin's loyalties.

When Gaius was doing rounds and Gwaine at training, Edgar had sought him out to discuss their 'similarities', as he had put it. This involved Edgar making himself comfortable in Gaius' quarters and then talking about himself and Merlin for a great deal of time. It was unnerving and uncomfortable, but Merlin didn't turn him away for the sole reason that, during these talks, Edgar almost gave away all of his plans.

Edgar, while incredibly ominous and often cryptic, was not particularly secretive. During his first visit, Edgar quickly revealed he was a warlock, and told Merlin a detailed version of his past, a dark and disturbing tale of him growing up in the dungeons of a cold, northerly castle, raised by an imprisoned druid until the age of five, when he escaped alone and spent a further five years fending for himself. The snowy winters of the north had driven him to Lord Lucius' father, who Edgar, over the years, managed to manipulate into twisted and driven man, convincing him to ally himself with magic rather than prosecute it. He explained his yearning for the power he had seen so many others abuse, of the greed and hunger he had not yet satisfied, and of the fear of being killed for something he was born with. After finishing the thorough account of his haunting life, Edgar had concluded that they were very much the same – both forced to hide their talents and take lowly jobs, never able to exercise their abilities but always craving freedom and power and recognition. Merlin disagreed, but Edgar _ominously _told him, "we shall see."

The second day, Edgar's stories had moved to the present day. Not soon after he had taken a seat, turning a vial of blue liquid over in his scarred hands, Edgar had told him of his plans to target Camelot. It was because of Uther that those with magic were hunted down and killed, and he intended to right that. He wanted Arthur's power for his own and planned to take it any way he could. Lucius was just a pawn to use over the years to play his wicked games, gaining his trust through using magic to give the warlord anything he wanted – hence the tattoos. Lucius thought he would gain power with Arthur out of the picture, but Edgar believed it belonged to him. Before his departure that day, he had promised that soon he would rule Camelot, and asked Merlin to join him. Merlin had declined rather forcefully.

Yet, as the days passed, Merlin couldn't bring himself to stop Edgar.

If he planned it right, Merlin could easily have killed Edgar. Lucius would surely fail without his warlock and the prophecy would be forgotten. But on the third day, Edgar continued to try and gain Merlin's allegiance, and he found himself listening to, and almost _believing_ in, the vengeful warlock. He refused to betray Arthur, yet understood Edgar's pain. It was confusing, his emotions horribly conflicted, but he forced himself not to think of what could be and instead focus on what _was_. It was rather easy to manipulate Edgar into giving Merlin a way to spy on Arthur, even if he guaranteed it would not stop him. With Edgar's help, Merlin learnt to scry. Whenever Arthur was in Lucius' presence, Merlin could watch what happened, always prepared to intercept, and managed to avoid getting caught every time. It was rather simple, really, and Merlin found himself wondering why he didn't think of it before.

Still, he refused to join Edgar. And, with no other choice, he was forced back into waiting for a prophecy he prayed would never come.

* * *

"You know," Gwaine said casually, as he put his feat up on Arthur's table and clasped his hands lazily over his torso. "You're driving him mad."

Arthur glared disapprovingly at Gwaine's muddy boots where they rested on the table. "It would have been worse, if I let him continue to work."

Gwaine's eyebrows rose. "Are you sure about that?"

"Yes."

"I'm not." Dragging his feet off the table, Gwaine leant forward, a serious expression on his bearded face. "Merlin thinks he has to protect you, that it's his duty, and you've essentially prevented him from doing that. Like I said before, it's driving him mad."

The king remained silent, thinking over the knight's words.

"And you haven't checked up on him, not once. He needs to see that you're all right."

Arthur let out a soft sigh. "I know, Gwaine. And I will."

"Go on, then."

Neither of them made any move to leave. It was Gwaine who eventually broke the silence with a loud sigh and challenged, rather heatedly, "What is it this time? Important matters of state? Tax reforms? Gwen having one of her moments?"

"Lord Lucius, actually," Arthur replied, as though he had missed the angry sarcasm in Gwaine's voice. "This dinner should seal the treaty nicely."

"I thought you had already secured that."

"It's proving to be more difficult than Guinevere and I expected."

"I have a theory."

"Good."

"Do you want to hear it?"

"Not really."

"I think Lucius wants Camelot for himself," Gwaine continued. "I can see it in his eyes – he's power-hungry, and it's obvious he isn't here just so you can settle a few petty disputes over land. And that servant of his – Edward, is it? – I don't trust him either. There's something about him, something… _off_."

"Well, he should be leaving tomorrow, so long as everything goes to plan this evening."

Gwaine studied Arthur critically. "Do us all a favor: be careful. Don't give Merlin a real reason to worry, will you?"

"I won't," Arthur said. "But I need to ask a favor in return."

"What do you need me to do, princess?"

Arthur shot him a dark glare. "Take Merlin to the tavern, or something, just… make sure he's all right. Maybe I could shorten his time off." He didn't mention how much he wanted his servant back, how he had actually _missed _Merlin.

"He'd like that." Gwaine gave a slight nod of approval.

"Just don't get_ too_ drunk."

Gwaine grinned mischievously as he stood. "I make no promises."

"You know, Gwaine, I haven't put anyone in the stocks in a very long time," Arthur threatened.

"And I haven't eaten vegetables in a while. Perfect!"

"You can't eat…" Arthur gave up with a resigned sigh. "I'm not paying the bill."

"That's what you said last time!" Gwaine yelled on his way out.

* * *

It had been a rather uneventful day. Arthur hadn't spent much time with Lucius, so Merlin had little to do, and had even managed to relax slightly and read one of Gaius' books – until he found out about the treaty-sealing dinner the king had planned that night. Then things got complicated.

He had spent barely an hour thinking over just how he was going to handle this rather dangerous dinner – Lord Lucius was supposed to leave tomorrow, which meant his week in Camelot had passed without any kind of assassination attempt, though Merlin was still sure it was going to happen, and that night was his best guess as to the _when _of it all – when he got a (mostly) unwelcome visitor: Edgar.

Edgar didn't knock, of course, and instantly took a seat in one of the old, creaky wooden chairs. With a brief, surprisingly cheerful greeting, he picked up a vial of hemlock and a carving knife and studying them with equal intensity before smirking familiarly at Merlin. "Simple-" he placed the hemlock down on the table in front of Merlin. "-Painful." The knife stabbed noisily at the wood, the table shaking with the impact of Edgar's strong blow. "Which one?"

Ah. Another of Edgar's many philosophical dilemmas.

"They're both painful," Merlin noted absently, though it wasn't an answer to the question, and didn't look up from the book he was pretending to read.

"So Morgana tells me," Edgar drawled.

An image he had long tried to forget flashed before Merlin's eyes – Morgana, eyes wide and full of pain and betrayal, staring at him desperately after drinking the hemlock he'd put in her water – and he swallowed hard, meeting Edgar's steady gaze. "You're with her."

"No, no," Edgar replied casually. "But I was lucky enough to spend a night or two in her company. Spoke for hours about a servant who always thwarted her plans. I put two and two together."

_Where is she? What is she planning? _Merlin wanted to ask. Instead, he said nothing.

Edgar studied Merlin critically. "If you're worried about her posing a threat to your precious Camelot, then rest assured in the knowledge that she won't be bothering you for a while. The Sarrum has her, I believe, and is rather diligent about not letting her go."

"The Sarrum?"

"Interesting man," Edgar said. "Hates sorcery, though. We'll have to get rid of him at some point, I think."

"We?"

"Arthur will be gone soon, and you'll have to reassess your loyalties – sorcery, or the shadows? I have faith that you will make the right choice this time."

"My loyalties will always be with Arthur." He told Edgar the same thing every day.

Edgar flashed his teeth. "Perhaps. But I have big plans for tonight's dinner – plans that may change your mind."

"Don't hold your breath," Merlin snarled.

"I thought you would say that." Edgar focused on him suddenly, intently, and tendrils of gold begun to swirl in his dark irises. "As did Lucius. See, we've discussed you at some length and, while _I _need you alive, Lucius has no such need for you. We came to a mutual decision – or rather, _I _came to a decision that, for now, you should be kept out of the way. So when your friend Gwaine stops by, you're going to go with him to the tavern, and you're not going to return until after midnight. Is that understood?"

Merlin blinked, everything becoming suddenly hazy. He felt almost intoxicated. "Y-yes."

"Consider yourself lucky, Emrys. Lucius thinks you need to die for him to take Camelot – quite a compliment, really, considering he still believes you to be nothing more than a serving boy. He was rather charmed by Morgana, when they met; believed her every word, would do her beck and call." Edger chuckled to himself. "Fool."

Merlin only blinked again in reply.

Edgar seemed to enjoy the silence, and talking to himself, because he continued almost happily. "It's a good job he won't really be the one taking Camelot when Arthur dies – the man has the brains of a donkey, no matter how many spells I put on him."

Something registered as not right, but whatever spell Edgar had cast quickly buried it in the backs of Merlin's mind.

"And Arthur _will _die, no matter what you do, or whatever way I chose to do it – simply _or _painfully. But the good thing about this spell is that you won't interfere tonight, when Lucius kills the king, and with this prophecy of yours well and truly out of the way, perhaps, Emrys, you will reconsider your commitment to the war _against _magic. Does that sound reasonable?"

"Yes," Merlin answered instantly.

Edgar grinned. "Fantastic! Now, where _is_ Gwaine? He's quite key to our plans."

As if summoned, Gwaine bounded through the door and bellowed, "Tavern time, Merlin!" The knight fumbled slightly when he saw Edgar, smile flickering. "Err, hello. Just here to… you know… get this one out and about."

The gold vanished from Edgar's eyes, but the spell remained. "Please, by all means, don't let me stop you."

Gwaine forced a smile in reply. "You up for it, Merlin?"

"Yes!" Merlin said, strangely enthusiastic.

Gwaine studied him though narrowed eyes, surprised. He'd been expecting a fight, or at least _some_ protest. Merlin looked more relaxed than Gwaine had seen him in a while, a dazed kind of look in his eyes that made the knight wonder if he was already drunk, and if Arthur needed him at all. "All right then. Let's go."

Merlin practically jumped from his seat. "Let's!"

"Enjoy this night, _Merlin_!" Edgar called, as Merlin and Gwaine made their leave. "I know I will!"

* * *

Merlin couldn't really remember getting to the tavern. The last thing he remembered was Edgar coming to see him that evening, after Gaius had left to deal with an emergency, though he recalled little of what had happened then either.

Somewhere, in the recesses of his mind, he remembered Edgar's eyes swirling gold in front of him. A foggy memory of him holding up a vial of hemlock and a carving knife flashed before his eyes. _Simple or painful? _He had asked. Merlin didn't know how he had replied.

Gwaine was most defiantly drinking mead, even if Merlin was sure he was only pretending to be drunk, but it was him who felt intoxicated. Merlin found himself wondering if Gwaine had bought him mead instead of water, though he was sure he would have tasted the difference between the two liquids.

Nevertheless, he felt very much like he had last time Gwaine had dragged him to the tavern and sneakily forced him into consuming alcohol. There was an unsteady churning in his stomach and his vision was distorted, the townspeople nearest to him growing a few extra heads each time he looked at them. His own head hurt already and, if last time was anything to go by, it would only get worse.

Merlin giggled carelessly as Gwaine sung at the top of his lungs, a song largely made up of profanities and insults, but somehow incredibly catchy. He felt like there was something he should remember, but he couldn't recall just what it was. The image of a tattooed hand holding a large knife danced through his line of vision, but it was blurry and useless, and dissolved into nothingness as he joined in with the chorus of Gwaine's rude song.

Nearly an hour later, they were nearing the end of the song. It was mid-verse, while a particularly pretty barmaid was singing solo and Gwaine was drooling over her, when he heard the word _lord_. There was something so important about that word, something he had missed or forgotten.

_Lucius._

_Lord_ Lucius was with Arthur right now, discussing plans for the unclaimed territories of the western borders, and he was here singing explicit songs about events too disgusting to mention. Earlier, he had planned to scry on the dinner, to make sure things had run smoothly, and then… what _happened_?

_Edgar_.

Why had been at Gaius' quarters? Had he mentioned _Morgana_? The conversation was playing over in him mind, gaining clarity with each word that returned to his muddled memory, until it all came back to him in one mad rush.

_The prophecy_. Lucius was going to kill Arthur. Edgar planned to take the throne.

Gwaine yelped in surprise when Merlin pulled him off the table and swiftly out of the tavern. There was yells of protest inside, but all Merlin could hear was Guinevere's desperate cries as she begged him to do something, during the prophecy. Gwaine's questions barely registered with him either.

"Lucius is going to kill Arthur," Merlin said. "Tonight."

"_What_?"

Where was Edgar? He had altered Merlin's memory, made him go the tavern while Lucius murdered the king. Merlin didn't know why he felt betrayed, but he did.

Gwaine was shaking him slightly, hands on his shoulders. "Hey, Merlin. Focus. Look at me. What did you drink?"

"We have to stop him; he's going to kill Arthur!"

"All right, start from the beginning."

Merlin spun around, ducking out from Gwaine's grip, and took off running. He had barely gotten far when an invisible force slammed into him, sending him flying backwards. The cobbled floor scraped at his back as he skidded along it, coming to a stop near Gwaine's feet. The knight stared in shock at their attacker for a moment, before unsheathing his sword and charging forward with an almighty cry of anger. A moment later, he was on the floor too, and Edgar was standing over Merlin with a rueful look on his face.

"You weren't supposed to break the spell," Edgar said almost sadly, lifting his hand so his palm was facing Merlin. "I didn't want to do this, Emrys."

Edgar begun muttering the words of a spell, but before he could finish Merlin had used his own magic. Now _he _was standing over Edgar.

"You can't stop it," Edgar stammered almost madly. "A prophecy will always come to pass. You must let it, Emrys. _Let it_."

Merlin's eyes flashed gold and Edgar's eyes rolled shut.

Gwaine was on his feet now, gaping at Merlin. He had seen it all.

"Make sure he doesn't wake up," Merlin ordered, turning briskly. He could deal with the aftereffects of revealing his magic to Gwaine when Arthur was safe.

"Where are you going?" Gwaine asked. His composure surprised Merlin.

"To save Arthur."

Then Merlin begun to run again, hoping it wouldn't be too late.

* * *

Arthur's talks with Lord Lucius had been going well, but they were frustratingly incomplete. It was by no fault of Arthur's; the king had negotiated a reasonable treaty that benefitted them both and Lucius seemed pleased, but it was as though it wasn't quite enough. Gwaine, alarmingly, was probably right – Lucius _did _seem to want Camelot for himself.

It was subtle at first, but more noticeable as time went on. The warlord continued to speak about how _he_ would rule Camelot, including a number of barbaric techniques that made Arthur feel sick to his stomach, and would discuss plans for the city as though Lucius himself had already secured them. Despite this, he never made a move to claim it, and Arthur doubted he would now. Lucius would have had the chance and not taken it. Was he really a threat? Truthfully, if it weren't for the way he spoke so possessively about Camelot, Arthur would have trusted him.

Still, Arthur had a bad feeling about the dinner. Guinevere had assured him there was no reason for it to go wrong and he wanted to believe that, but a strange feeling of wrongness pooled into his stomach as Lucius entered, sans servant, to dine with them. He had wondered absently where Edgar was, and then what his own manservant was doing – probably with Gwaine in the tavern, drinking away his worries. At least, that's what Arthur _hoped _he was doing. Chances were he was getting into trouble somewhere. He didn't know why he suddenly felt so sick or why something was telling him to get out of there and ensure Merlin was safe himself, but by the time food were served Arthur didn't have much of an appetite.

Thankfully, while Arthur's mind was somewhere else entirely, the dinner talks were going surprisingly well. Lucius had just about agreed to their own selected territories and so long as nothing drastically awful happened, everything was on track for the warlord's departure the next day.

"So it's decided," Arthur announced, wholly, completely, _unimaginably_ relived not only that Lucius would be leaving tomorrow, but that the dinner would finish soon and he would be able to personally check that Merlin was still alive. He didn't know why he felt so unsettled, but he knew, somehow, that it had something to do with his manservant. "You will take four hides on the western border for your own, independent uses, and Camelot shall take the remaining five."

_Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to leave inappropriately early to put my idiot manservant in the stocks for making me worry over nothing_, he wanted to add, and then run until he found Merlin. _Worrying over nothing, worrying over nothing_ – that was his mantra as he pretended to care about what Lord Lucius had to say. Honestly, he was as bad as Merlin, getting wound up over a 'funny feeling'. Did this make him a colossal hypocrite?

Lucius nodded approvingly. "You have yourself a deal, Pendragon."

Arthur was barely listening. Under the table, Gwen gave his thigh a light squeeze and was looking worriedly in his direction. He managed a tight smile and an even tenser, "I would like to thank you for your cooperation these past days. It has truly been a pleasure to address these issues with such reason and friendship."

"Yes." Lucius' eyes sparkled dangerously. "_Friendship_."

"Will you depart tomorrow?" Arthur asked, trying to hide the hope from his voice.

The warlord took a long swing from his wine and made a soft, contemplating noise afterwards, as he pondered this idea, before murmuring mildly, "Hmm… perhaps."

_Damn it_. Arthur looked to Guinevere for something to say that would make him _leave_, for goodness sake, and she gave him a gentle smile before addressing Lucius herself. "This is a busy time for us all, I'm sure. I think it best you-"

"Oh, I don't plan on leaving anytime soon." Lucius lounged back in his chair, eyes still alight with greed and what Arthur thought was anticipation, and slowly he drew a long, wide knife from his scabbard. Though he made no move to use the knife yet, there was something quietly threatening about the way he threaded it lazily through his fingers. It would have been some party trick, if Arthur weren't so sure the warlord had every intention to kill them. "In fact, I plan on staying for a _very _long time."

Arthur opened his mouth to call for the guards, but Lucius shook his head slowly, clicking his tongue. "There's no one there. I had Edgar take care of them."

Guinevere's hand tightened around Arthur's thigh. Arthur gave it a reassuring squeeze before reached for his sword.

"Then I'll deal with you myself," Arthur spat, drawing his sword and rising from his chair at the same time as Lucius.

They were barely on their feet before Arthur had launched himself at Lucius, sword outstretched. Lengthier and lighter, Arthur's sword should have given him the advantage, but he had forgotten Lucius' strength in his angry haste. Without so much as breaking a sweat, the warlord dodged Arthur's attack and grabbed the king's wrist as though disciplining a child, twisting it at such an angle that the sword clattered to the floor. Unsatisfied with just disarming him, Lucius turned Arthur's wrist until there was a loud _snap_ and the king cried out in pain. The grin on Lucius' face was mad and sadistic.

"These talks were rather successful, don't you think?" Lucius mused, sending Arthur tumbling backwards after one last bend of his broken wrist. He raised the knife again, excitement burning in his black eyes. "Very beneficial to Camelot."

Arthur watched from the corner of his eye as Gwen moved slowly from her seat and towards his sword, which now lay across the floor. Lucius didn't realize.

Heart beating painfully fast, Arthur wanted to tell her not to, to run instead, but he was terrified Lucius would kill her if he did. Instead, he tried to distract the warlord. "Why are you doing this?"

Lucius threw his head back and laughed. "Isn't it obvious? _I want Camelot_."

Arthur's sword, an ordinary replica of the magnificent one he had retrieved from the stone during Morgana's last siege of Camelot, skidded towards his feet. Shooting Gwen a thankful smile, he quickly picked up the sword with his uninjured arm and swung at Lucius. It missed again, this time because of Lucius' incredible speed. The warlord moved in a flash, so fast Arthur barely saw it happen.

"I have power beyond imagination, Pendragon," Lucius hissed. "You may as well give up now."

"Never," Arthur snapped, and attacked again.

He was rebuffed incredibly forcefully, from what would have appeared as nothing more than a slight push for Lucius, but felt like being hit with a battling ram. Stumbling backwards, sword tumbling to the floor, Arthur stared wide-eyed at Lucius, who had now raised the dagger readily and was advancing towards him. He barely heard the door fly open, though he could make out that Gwen was shouting something, begging someone, although it wasn't his name she was crying. Dimly, Arthur realized it sounded like she was yelling at _Merlin_.

There were no words to describe what happened next. Lucius plunged the knife downwards, towards his abdomen, but his movements became suddenly slow, before any impact was made. It was as though time slowed and Arthur could only watch as the blade got closer and closer to him, inch by painfully slow inch.

Then time resumed its normal pace, but not before Merlin, who had appeared out of seemingly nowhere, threw himself in front of Arthur. There was nothing Arthur could do as Lucius stabbed the knife into Merlin's gut.

Silence. Long, dreadful silence. Lucius' eyes were wide as he stared at Merlin, shocked that he had missed, but more so at what had caused him to. Then a fresh smile curled his lips and he turned the knife over smoothly within the servant's abdomen. The warlord pulled, and the knife exited swiftly from where it had been embedded in Merlin's stomach.

Arthur heard a pained choke and then a loud, furious shout of "No!" that he didn't realize belonged to him until he had picked up his sword and put it straight through Lucius' chest. There was a thump, and Lucius hit the floor.

Soon after, Merlin's knees gave way. Guinevere fell to the floor beside him, sobbing a mad array of nonsensical words, and Arthur could only watch as the pool of blood around Merlin grew.

Merlin's eyes flicked closed a moment later, but not before Arthur saw what color they had been. _Gold_.

* * *

_End of Part III_

* * *

The Domesday Book state that a 'hide' is 'approximately 120 acres, depending on local variations in the acre'. Thought I'd use it.

As for the chapter... it kind of escalated quickly, and seemed a little bit disjointed to me. If there's not enough description, it's because I was rushing. More stuff should be explained in the next chapter, and some gaps properly filled. What'd you guys think? Good? Bad? Anyone want to take a guess as to what happens next?

Reviews greatly appreciated :)


	10. Portents and Prophecies: Part IV

**A/N: **I couldn't wait to write this part, despite the fact that is was _so hard_. That's all I'll say, apart from bear with me. You'll know what I mean soon enough.

**Title: **Portents and Prophecies

**Author: **FlYiNgPiGlEtS

**Summary: **is it too late, or can Arthur save Merlin?

**Ratings**: T (?)

**Characters: **Merlin, Arthur, Gwen, the knights and Gaius. Also a few OCs.

**Pairings: **no slash. Gwen/Arthur.

**Spoilers: **Set between series 4 and 5.

**Warnings: **blood. Stab wounds. Some not so nice stuff – watch out if you're squimish. Character death.

**Disclaimer: **unfortunately, I don't own Merlin; it belongs to the BBC and Shine.

* * *

**VI: **_Portents and Prophecies: Part IV_

It had worked. Against all odds, it had worked.

The spell was outdated and complicated, barely usable. Even in the days of the Old Religion, it was deemed too dangerous for all but the most powerful High Priests and Priestesses, who, with all their power and might, could scarcely master the enchantment themselves.

Yet time had slowed for him. It had curved and caved, allowing only him to move though it at a normal pace, but causing the movements of those inside the citadel to be sluggish and slight. Though it must have been a wonderful sight, to see the extraordinary colors and creations of Camelot as a still, wondrous painting and not a palette of light and noise, but Merlin hadn't stopped to watch. He had just ran – ran as fast as his legs would carry him, crashing up stairs and clambering around corners, slamming doors and stammering spells – until the halls gave way to the royal chambers and he was standing in front of Arthur, protecting him like he always had and always would.

That had been all that mattered: protect Arthur, worry about wayward rules of the universe later. And, even up against fate and destiny and whatever else was out to take away _his _king, Merlin had done it. He had done it. The prophecy had not come to pass and Arthur would live.

Arthur would _live_.

He was standing over Merlin now, Arthur, staring at him – at his _golden _eyes. Dimly, he realized that the king knew about his magic, but it seemed so irrelevant amid the strange, icy agony that consumed him. The world spun and spindled, and someone was crying and begging, but none of it made enough sense anymore. He had saved Arthur, and that was all that mattered.

Arthur was holding him now, speaking, sobbing, and Merlin let his heavy eyelids fall closed. Somehow, even if he didn't remember much of anything, he knew Arthur had understood everything Merlin couldn't put into words, all the things he'd never had the chance to say. And so he let himself float away, safe in the knowledge that he had been true to his word – he had been Arthur's servant until the day he died.

* * *

Arthur didn't know which one was the brightest – the red or the gold. Merlin's crimson blood, or his golden eyes.

He watched, fixated, as the once-magnificent colors of Camelot mutated so suddenly into his worst nightmare, unable to look away, unable to wake up. It had happened too fast. Nothing made sense. He wanted to believe it wasn't real.

But it was. As much as he wanted to believe he was dreaming, it was obvious that he was very much awake.

Merlin was a sorcerer.

Arthur's sword slipped from his hand and fell to the floor with a loud clatter.

Merlin had magic.

Arthur's legs collapsed beneath him.

Merlin was going to die.

Blood soaked through the knees of his breeches as he crawled forward. His broken wrist protested angrily, but it didn't matter. It didn't matter, as long as he got to Merlin. He _had _to get to Merlin.

Guinevere was talking quickly, tears still streaming down her cheeks, but there was a new kind of determination about her, and the words she spoke to Merlin were no longer unintelligible. One of her hands was pressed hard against Merlin's stomach, trying to stop the bleeding, and the other on his shoulder as she tried desperately to keep him awake. Arthur's couldn't tell if it was working. He couldn't tell if he was crying with her. He couldn't even tell if Merlin was still alive. So he kept going, kept dragging himself forward, until he was at his friend's side too.

Merlin appeared unconscious, breathing but barely, his lungs gurgling manically with each infrequent inhale. An alarming amount of blood pooled around him and Guinevere's attempts to stop it didn't appear to be working, even when she untied Merlin's neckerchief and pressed it to the wound. She was speaking to Arthur now, but he didn't hear her orders. A few moments later, though, when he was the one clutching the neckerchief to Merlin's bleeding stomach with his uninjured hand and Guinevere was leaving the room in a hurry, he knew he must have done or said something in reply to her.

Too soon, too suddenly, he was alone - so completely alone. And he was so _scared_.

"Merlin," he whispered, voice cracked and constricted, words barely making it past the burning lump that had lodged itself in his throat. Though he didn't expect a reply, he needed to say that name, to remind himself that the sorcerer lying in front of him _was _Merlin – Merlin who, despite his magic, despite the voice in his head, the one that sounded suspiciously like his father's, screaming that magic was evil, deserved to be saved. Because if there was one thing Arthur knew, it was that Merlin _was not _evil. He could deal with the magic later, when Merlin was better – and he _would _get better, Arthur swore it.

A strangled choke broke the horrifying silence of the room, and Arthur looked down in shock. Two bleary, glazed eyes – their normal blue now, not the gold he had seen earlier – stared up at him, blinking through heavy lashes confusedly. Arthur knew he wasn't awake, not truly, but leaned closer anyway, desperate to talk to him, desperate both to reassure him that it would be all right and yell at him for keeping his magic a secret. After some debate, he settled for the former.

"Merlin," he said again. "Gaius is on his way." Arthur remembered now – Guinevere had gone to get Gaius. Softly, sounding pathetically unconvincing, he added, "He'll have you on you're feet again in no time, lazy daisy."

_Lazy daisy_. Merlin was never going to shut up about that.

Seeming to find more lucidity in Arthur's not-so-reassuring words, Merlin managed a pained smile and what might have been intended as a laugh, but turned into a rattling cough that turned the servant's lips an even more alarming shade of blue. A thick string of blood dripped from Merlin's parted lips and onto his ruined tunic. His body was shaking uncontrollably, from the immense blood loss and from the fear in his wide eyes as he stared so sadly up at Arthur. Neither of them needed to say anything. Arthur knew what Merlin wanted to say, saw it in his tear-brimmed eyes. _I'm sorry. I'm scared. Goodbye._

Wordlessly, refusing to let the tears in his own eyes spill, Arthur shuffled so that he could pull Merlin closer to him. It was a hard task, with Arthur trying not to aggravate Merlin's wound or his broken wrist, but somehow, sometime later, he managed it.

Afraid to let go, Arthur clutched Merlin's trembling form against his chest, arms encircling his body, which seemed so suddenly small and fragile. The warlock's dark hair tickled the bottom Arthur's chin where it rested gently atop his head as the king moved slowly, soothingly back and forth. Arthur knew these were his last moments with Merlin, yet he refused to accept it. Merlin couldn't die.

Arthur didn't realize he was speaking out loud, a mad stream of untrue reassurances tumbling from his lips, until Merlin's hand gripped his uninjured arm weakly. For once, it was Arthur who guessed, "Shut up?"

Underneath his trembling chin, Merlin bobbed his head slightly in response. Arthur's laugh sounded more like a sob. Merlin's hand tightened slightly around his arm. _It's all right_, the gesture said. That's what Arthur had been telling _him_, but only when it was Merlin giving the comforts did it seem true, at least for a short moment of blissful ignorance.

But Merlin was becoming limper in his arms, fingers barely able to cling to the arm of Arthur's bloodstained tunic, and they were running out of time. There was so much Arthur wanted to say, but no way to put any of it into words. The tears he had fought so hard to hold back were flowing freely now, dropping into Merlin's hair. Arthur realized, absently, that Merlin was crying too, but he didn't call him a girl; he simply held him closer.

A short while later, Merlin's hand fell from his arm and the throttling breaths Arthur had been so desperately listening to came to a stop. Arthur buried his face in Merlin's shoulder and sobbed.

That's how Gaius and Guinevere found them. It had been too late.

* * *

Some time later, Arthur sat in one of his wooden chairs by the fire. He didn't remember how he had gotten there and couldn't comprehend what the hushed voices across the room were saying; he just stared into the orange flames, welcoming the warmth, even if it didn't stop his shaking. The blanket around his shoulders didn't help either.

Someone had changed his clothes and replaced them with clean garments. His broken wrist had been wrapped and supported in a sling. A painkilling draught had probably been forced into him as well, for he didn't feel much of anything but a deep, cold feeling of numbness.

The blood that had covered the floor had also been wiped away, but Arthur still saw it. He still remembered holding Merlin in his arms with painful, vivid clarity. It was all he really knew anymore – Merlin was gone.

Lord Lucius' body had been removed. Arthur presumed Merlin's had as well, though he remembered not letting anyone near them when Gaius and Guinevere had first come in, not until the knights – Percival and Gwaine? Or Elyan and Leon? – had forced him away. It had been the right thing to do, even if Arthur had wanted to cling to Merlin forever.

Now he sat alone, though he recognized the faraway voices as Gwen and Gaius'. The knights were there too, Arthur realized, part of whatever deep discussion that was going on. It seemed urgent.

Then someone was beside him, a hand gently caressing his hair. Guinevere. She smiled compassionately at him, though there was so much sorrow in her deep eyes, which were red-rimmed and bloodshot from crying, and she murmured softly to him. Soon he was being eased to his feet, face to face with his four most faithful knights and Gaius, who all looked as grief-stricken as his wife. Leon was speaking as though he didn't quite know how to address Arthur anymore, but his words became a blur just like everything else.

Until he mentioned _that _name, the name Arthur never wanted to hear again – _Lord Lucius_. Now he had Arthur's full attention, and the king broke free of his mourning stupor with a shocked, furious, "_What_?"

"Sire," Leon said cautiously. "Lord Lucius is alive. We have him in the cells now."

Arthur didn't ask why or how. He didn't insist that he had killed him, that it was _impossible_; he held out his left hand, the one that wasn't in a sling, and, his voice low and livid, said, "Hand me my sword."

Gwaine picked Excalibur – the _real _Excalibur – up from the table and handed it wordlessly to Arthur. It felt good to hold Excalibur again; even holding it with his weaker hand, the sword felt like it belonged to him, more so than any other weapon he had ever owned.

With an appreciative swing of his sword and slight nod of his head, Arthur swept out of the room. The warning bells clanged in this distance, signaling that a prisoner had escaped, and Arthur knew exactly who it was. He picked up his pace, pushing through the crowds of guards that were running madly though the palace, and straight to the cells.

Lord Lucius would _pay_.

* * *

_End of Part IV_

* * *

DON'T HATE ME! IT'S NOT OVER YET! Lord Lucius is alive, isn't he? See, not everyone stays dead in Merlin. Just BEAR WITH ME! I'll try and update ASAP!

Reviews, good, bad or 'how-could-you?!'-centred, always welcome :)


	11. Portents and Prophecies: Part V

**A/N: **you won't even read this bit. I bet you all just wanna see what happened to Merlin. So onwards! :)

**Title: **Portents and Prophecies

**Author: **FlYiNgPiGlEtS

**Summary: **is it too late, or can Arthur save Merlin?

**Ratings**: T

**Characters: **Merlin, Arthur, Gwen, the knights and Gaius. Also a few OCs.

**Pairings: **no slash. Gwen/Arthur.

**Spoilers: **Set between series 4 and 5.

**Warnings: **blood. Not as much as the last chapter, though.

**Disclaimer: **unfortunately, I don't own Merlin; it belongs to the BBC and Shine.

* * *

**VI: **_Portents and Prophecies: Part V_

His grief manifested into anger, and his anger into motivation. Nothing could stop him. Nothing would stop him. The guards were smart enough to move out of his way, despite their own efforts to capture and kill the escaped prisoner, and soon he found himself in the cells.

Arthur knew Lord Lucius had escaped, but something was drawing him into the deep depths of the palace. It was the same kind of buzz he felt when Merlin had performed magic, the overwhelming feeling of power bubbling over like boiling water, dangerous yet useful all at once. Whether Lucius was there or not – and he had a feeling he _was _– Arthur needed to find out what was going on.

A thin veil of smoke swirled around Arthur's knees as he proceeded cautiously into the cells, Excalibur raised at the ready. The feeble, fading cloud wasn't natural and, as the air around him became clearer, he soon saw the full extent of the damage to the cells, presumably also a result of magic.

Each and every cell had been torn apart, the bars mangled and doors hanging off squeaking hinges. Thankfully, Lucius had been the only prisoner because, had there been anymore, they would have all escaped. The damage was extensive and would be expensive to repair, but Arthur would worry about that when he found Lucius – and killed him, like he had done to Merlin.

_Merlin_. His stomach turned and his heart clenched, pounding painfully against his ribcage. For a moment, he couldn't breath, couldn't think. All he could see was Merlin's blood and all he could feel was the warlock's tiny, breakable body in his arms.

Then, yet again, fury replaced his sorrow and he pushed forward, shaking with anticipation rather than shock now. He had killed Merlin's murderer once, and would again; he would not rest until Lucius was dead

Reaching the gloomiest depths of the cells, the parts that Arthur reserved for his worst, most despicable prisoners, he prepared himself for whatever he would find. The strange, magic-fueled feeing multiplied, reaching an uncomfortable crescendo as he rounded the corner.

What he saw made it rather clear he hadn't prepared enough.

Lucius was writhing on the floor, nails scraping against the stone floor and mouth open in a silent scream, a small, almost inaudible whistle of a cry sliding past the gaps in his yellow teeth. His black eyeballs rolled uncontrollably, as though searching for a restless firefly in the shadows of the cell. It would have been disturbing, if Arthur didn't believe he deserved to be in such agony.

The inflictor of Lucius' pain was what shocked Arthur the most. Edgar stood over his master, hands outstretched and eyes glowing gold. The expression on his face was one of disgusting pleasure and intense anger. Though Edgar seemed to enjoy torturing Lucius, the hateful words he spat at the warlord overshadowed most of the sadistic glee on the servant's contorted face.

"P-please!" Lucius managed to hiss, voice choked as though someone was strangling him. "I didn't know it was him! _I didn't know_!"

Edgar curled his fingers jestingly and a loud scream ripped from Lucius' throat. "Save your breath. You're going to need it."

"What… what are you going... to d-do to m-me?" Lucius wheezed.

"You'll see." One of Edgar's hands clenched into a fist and Lucius' hands shot to his throat, face turning bright red and then fading to blue. The servant stretched his fingers back out just as Lucius turned purple, and the warlord gasped desperately for air. "Wouldn't want to ruin the surprise now, would we?"

"_Help_!" Lucius screamed. "Help me!"

"Do you really think anyone will help _you_?" Edgar sneered. "After you murder one of their own? Not even the druids would take you now."

"I didn't know he was Emrys!"

"_Shut your mouth_, _or I will do it for you_!" Edgar bellowed, so loudly and ferociously even Arthur recoiled. It was not the way he was used to hearing anyone talk, let alone someone who, a few moments ago, Arthur would have sworn was just a servant.

Lucius was chanting, "I'm sorry" over and over again between anguished cries, but Edgar was focused on Arthur now, a strange kind of smile twisting his features into something that made the king decidedly uneasy. Arthur couldn't tell how long Edgar had known he was there.

"Arthur," Edgar said slowly, drawing out the word in a curious, calculating manor. He had not used titles, an informality that he managed to make sound wholly, deliberately disrespectful. "How lovely of you to join us."

"He never escaped," Arthur whispered, almost to himself.

Edgar shrugged. "No; that was a decoy, so I could punish him myself. Though I sense you've come for the same purpose."

Arthur said nothing, but based on the telling way Edgar was looking at him, he knew he didn't need to.

"The Once and Future King, avenging Emrys. Oh, how poetical," Edgar murmured merrily, a dark twinkle in his eyes, which had now returned to their normal color, a brown so close to black that Arthur couldn't see his pupils.

Again, Arthur didn't reply.

Edgar stepped away from Lucius, hand sweeping over the warlord's convulsing body. "If you would do the honors."

Gripping Excalibur tightly, Arthur took a cautious step forward. Lucius let out another small cry, hands reaching out towards the king, fingers crawling across the stone as if to grab his ankles. For a moment, all Arthur saw was the warlord's sadistic grin as he twisted the knife in Merlin's gut. He heard the crunch before he even realized he'd slammed his boot down onto Lucius' wrist. There was another long, drawn-out scream as Arthur dug his heel into the broken appendage.

Then he raised Excalibur above his head.

"Take caution, young king," Edgar said, and Arthur froze. "For the Prophets do not lie – your blade can slay even those who are immortal, but it will not save you. The task will be passed on to another."

Arthur plunged the sword through Lucius' chest. This time, he knew the warlord would not rise again.

* * *

The warning bells continued to clang nosily. Sounds of pounding feet echoed through the cells. There were shouts from above and orders were given but not followed. It was pandemonium in the palace, yet deep within the murky cells, an unsettling calm had fallen over Arthur and Edgar as they stared at Lucius' body.

Arthur had expected to feel some kind of relief – for the pain in his chest to lessen slightly, for the tightness to fade. But as his anger dissipated, his grief returned in a fresh, painful rush. He swallowed hard against the scraping, burning pain in his throat and took deep, shaking breaths. It was all he could do not to collapse. Suddenly, he was exhausted, his body sagging tiredly, objecting to even the slightest movements. But that didn't matter, not really. There was nowhere to go. Without Merlin, he there was nowhere he _wanted _to go.

It had been unrealistic, to hope killing Merlin's murderer would bring him any kind of comfort or closure; even more so to hope that it would bring Merlin back. There was nothing he could do; there had never been. Excalibur was too heavy in his hand, but nothing compared to the weight of his heart. Merlin was gone, and Arthur wished he was too.

His mind ran wild. There was nothing to distract him, no dark corner he could recede into this time. Arthur was almost relieved when Edgar spoke, voice low and even. "Take me to him."

The king's eyes opened, then widened. "What?"

"_Merlin_," Edgar said, as though the name was foreign to him, like he had meant to say something else. "Take me to him."

Excalibur stopped shaking in Arthur's hand. His knuckles begun to turn white. "You're a sorcerer."

"A warlock, like your servant," Edgar snapped. "And you will take me to him."

"Why?"

Arthur thought his heart was going to explode when Edgar hissed, "So I can save him."

The warning bells had stopped ringing now. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Arthur didn't dare breath, didn't dare hope.

"Would you stop me?" Edgar asked, finally. "Let him die, because of your foolish hatred of magic?"

"He's already dead."

"I can save him."

Arthur shook his head. "No. No, it's impossible. You can't-"

"_I can save him_."

Arthur simply stared at Edgar, searching for the telltale signs of a lie, of misguidance or betrayal, but finding nothing but determination and an odd, compelling look on the servant's face. Yet Arthur still hesitated. Not because he didn't want to save Merlin – no, he wanted that more than he remembered wanting anything – but because Arthur knew Edgar would use magic. If he allowed it, then he would have to make the same exception for everyone. How could magic be illegal, when he himself would have used it? Arthur didn't know if he was ready, if _Camelot _was ready, to welcome sorcery again.

But it was Merlin. His _friend_. And sometimes, for your friends, you have to do what's right and damn the consequences.

With one last glance at Lucius' body, Arthur sheathed Excalibur and turned to leave. "Follow me," he called over his shoulder, finding his own determination and will once more.

* * *

Though, in his grief, Arthur had earlier buried himself into a state almost catatonic, some part of his brain must have been taking in what had happened, because he knew exactly where Merlin's body was.

As he lead Edgar through the winding staircases of the palace, towards Gaius' quarters, his mind dangerously void of any other thought than _save Merlin_, Arthur begun to remember more of what had happened that night. Guinevere had cried, silently and softly, when she realized it was too late. She had spoken so quietly, so caringly, when she asked him to let go of Merlin. There had been no more begging, not from her. But Arthur knew someone had been sobbing pleas, over and over again, unreachable, inconsolable. It took him a moment to realize it had been _him_, as he clung to Merlin's body and rocked back and forth, begging him not to go. The knights had dragged him away in the end, when no one could get through to him verbally, and Arthur had still been crying when Gwaine carried Merlin out of the room. Someone had held him close, murmuring hushed condolences, though he didn't know if it had been Gwen or Gaius, or both. When he returned from Gaius' quarters, Gwaine had yelled and lashed out, until his knuckles bleed from pounding the wall and he had sat on the floor, sobbing quietly into his hands. Gwaine hadn't been the only knight crying.

Arthur was startled when he found himself staring at the door to Gaius' quarters. He had been so lost in thought that he hadn't even realized they'd arrived. Taking a deep, shaking breath through his nose, he reached out to open it – and froze. Inside, he knew what he would find, and he didn't know if he could look at… just thinking about it made him feel sick, and he found some of his earlier ambition washing away with the threatening tears behind his closed eyelids.

But he had to bear it. Edgar was going to save Merlin. Then this hellish nightmare would be over.

When he opened his eyes again, the door was swinging open without so much as a prod and Edgar's eyes were glowing gold. Shooting Arthur a dark grin, he paced determinedly inside. Arthur followed, heart pounding, but was barely two steps inside when he stopped again.

Merlin had been laid carefully on the patient bed, in new, familiar clothes, a blanket covering most of his body, but not his slack face. He was horribly pale and still, and Arthur wanted to turn and run, but he couldn't look away.

Edgar's smile had faltered, twisting into a look of pure, uncensored anger, and Arthur suddenly wanted to leave for a completely different reason. There was no doubt in the king's mind that Edgar was not only powerful, but could take him apart in one blow if need be, and without any physical weapon. It was baffling and terrifying all at once.

"Ready, Pendragon?" Edgar asked.

Arthur swallowed and nodded.

Carefully pulling the blanket away from Merlin's body, Edgar held out one of his hands so it was positioned directly over where the wound must have been and begun muttering odd words, in a foreign tongue Arthur didn't recognize. His eyes flashed gold, flaring menacingly, and Arthur held his breath.

At first, nothing happened. The room was quiet, save for Edgar's whispered enchantment, and nothing changed. There was no spectacular resurrection, no shift in consciousness; Arthur didn't know what he had expected, but it certainly wasn't the hideous emptiness that seemed to fill the room.

Then it happened, so quickly Arthur thought perhaps this time someone had accelerated time, rather than slowed it. Merlin jerked visibly on the bed and choked on a sudden, liberating breath. Already, color had begun returning to his face, his pale cheeks flushing an almost-unhealthy shade of pink, and there was no mistaking the rise and fall of his chest. Merlin was alive.

Arthur had been so fixated on Merlin that he didn't see Edgar raise his left hand, palm pointed directly at him. Thin tendrils of the cackling smog Edgar had conjured in the cells encircled his legs, bringing him swiftly to his knees. He looked up, wide-eyed, at Edgar as the warlock took a step towards him, golden eyes narrowed into slits and a smirk twisting his lips.

"What are you doing?" Arthur gasped. The smoke was wrapping itself around his neck and chest, tightening around his lungs.

"A life must be taken in order to restore one," Edgar explained. "Though I was thinking of taking another – the drunken knight's, perhaps, or the physician – this is far more convenient. What's the saying? Killing two birds with one stone?"

Shadows were creeping conspicuously across the sides of Arthur's vision. His veins felt as though they had been set on fire, as though the smoke was coming from inside of him. The fog had wrapped itself so tightly around his throat that nothing could get in or out of his lungs. Absently, he realized he was lying on the floor, the flagstones uncomfortably cold against his cheek, but his consciousness – and life – was already starting to fade.

"How easy it was, to bring about your downfall, Arthur Pendragon," Edgar cooed. "Any last words?"

Arthur could no longer see anything, his vision clouded completely by darkness, and let his eyelids fall closed. In his last moments, he thought of Guinevere, of her sweet smile, and of what he was dying for – Merlin. Merlin, his closest, dearest friend. Arthur didn't think of the betrayal he had felt when finding out his trusted manservant had magic. He didn't think about all the secrets Merlin had never told him. Instead, he thought of the friend and advisor he had treasured all of these years, of the first time they met and every moment in between. Of the insults and arguments, the jokes and laughter, of finally realizing _Merlin _was never at the tavern. He had saved Arthur every time before, but now it was Arthur's turn to save _him_. And Arthur didn't think of what he was going to leave behind – he just thought about how glad he was that Merlin was going to live in his place.

Then, through the eerie silence of the in-between place Arthur had slipped into, ripped a yell so strong and sorrowful that he forced himself to cling to the land of the living for just a moment longer.

"_No_!" Merlin screamed.

Edgar's spell wavered and Arthur gulped air into his lungs as though he would never get the chance to again – for all he knew, he wouldn't.

"Emrys," Arthur heard Edgar say and, through the thin cracks between his drooped eyelids, he saw the warlock step towards another blurred figure with a mop of raven hair and a wonderfully familiar red neckerchief. "Do not be foolish. This is our _destiny_."

"My destiny is with Arthur," Merlin replied, his voice never wavering in its certainty. "And it always will be."

"Think of what we could do together, untied. We would be _unstoppable._"

Merlin shook his head ruefully. "I am loyal to Arthur."

"You are loyal to a king who _despises _magic, who would have those who posses it executed out of hatred and fear. Your king is a coward and a tyrant," Edgar spat. "And his crown belongs to _me_. Together, Emrys, we can restore magic to Albion. You would be _free_ – free to use your talents as they should be used; free from the prejudices the Pendragon dynasty has cast upon us. Is that not what you want?"

Arthur forced his eyes open when the silence dragged on for too long. His eyes wobbled to Merlin's thin figure, searching his face for the answer that had not yet come. The look of conflict on his friend's face shattered his already-broken heart.

Merlin's eyes glistened with yearnings Arthur could not begin to understand, bubbling underneath the surface. There was so much pain in those blue pools, a burden the king knew he had bore alone, and Arthur found himself wondering how he had ever overlooked it. He wanted to stand up and go to his friend, to apologize and promise him that he would never have to hide again, but his limbs refused to cooperate.

But Merlin was looking at him, with wide eyes that told Arthur he understood. And then the determination and surety returned to his eyes, and Arthur realized that he would _always _have Merlin's loyalty, no matter what.

"That is what I want," Merlin said levelly. "But I cannot let you kill him."

Merlin raised his hand. Sorrow and determination molded his expression into a mask of both power and fragility, but he didn't hesitate. The blue of his irises melted into gold and Edgar fell to his knees.

"The Pendragon is no friend of yours," Edgar hissed. "Let me _kill _him, Emrys!"

Merlin looked away briefly and shook his head.

"You will die if his life is not taken!" Edgar cried.

Softly, between the words of his enchantment, Merlin whispered, "Not if I take yours."

There was a brilliant flash of light, and Arthur had to close his eyes. He thought, briefly, whether Merlin had struck Edgar down with lightening, before a gentle feeling of warmth nudged him into an almost-thoughtless state of consciousness. Waves of magic rippled through his body, cooling the effects of Edgar's spell, healing his broken wrist and even the week-old bruise he had obtained while training. He had never felt so relaxed, his whole body void of pain or exhaustion, an exhilarating feeling of weightlessness coursing madly through his veins. He was half tempted to lie there forever, bathing in the sweet feeling of rejuvenation, but then he remembered Merlin.

Arthur scrambled to his feet and instantly searched the room. By his feet lay Edgar, very much dead, but Arthur was more focused on the other warlock in the room. Merlin was looking at him with an expression that was happy and sad, fearful but sure. For a moment, they stayed like that, too stunned or scared to move, and then Merlin toppled forwards as though his legs could no longer hold him.

Scrambling forward, Arthur managed to catch him just in time. He lowered his friend carefully to the floor, fear grasping at his churning stomach, and begun searching rather irrationally for some kind of injury he may have obtained, until Merlin began to sob. Before he even realized what he was doing, Arthur pulled him into a hug.

"I'm sorry," Merlin chocked against his chest, hands balling around the king's shirt.

"Me too," Arthur whispered, arms tightening around him. "Me too."

"The p-prophecy, Arthur. I… I _had _to. He was going to kill you. He was going to-"

Arthur closed his eyes and rested his cheek on the top of Merlin's head. "I know."

"He was going to kill you. I couldn't let him do it. I couldn't…. I had to…"

"It's over now, Merlin. Lucius is gone."

"It's over?" Merlin croaked, sounding so small, so _young_.

Arthur nodded, and Merlin begun to sob harder. The king was crying too, but he paid little attention to the tears dripping down his cheeks. "It's all right," he soothed, over and over again, until his friend's sobs turned to whimpers, and his whimpers to deep, shaking breaths. "It's all right."

Sometime later, when the knights found them, Merlin was asleep and Arthur was still holding onto him. They had helped both men into bed just as the sun begun to rise, and cried their own tears of relief.

* * *

For the majority next two weeks, Merlin slept. While Gaius reassured him that it was normal – Merlin was still recovering from his ordeal; Edgar may have healed the wound, but he had not completely replenished the blood he lost – Arthur couldn't help but worry, and was at the physician's quarters everyday.

During his time there, Gaius told him some of the basic things he needed to know about Merlin's magic. Arthur quickly found out Merlin had been born with magic, making him a warlock, not just a sorcerer. It was rare, but not unheard of, to be born with such powers – although none had come close to being as powerful as Merlin, Arthur was also rather shocked to discover – and quickly realized his father was wrong. It wasn't magic that corrupted; it was the power that came with it. But Merlin had a good soul and a kind heart. Arthur believed with all his being that Merlin wasn't evil, and wouldn't be tainted by his abilities.

Gaius also explained Lucius' apparent immortality. Arthur soon knew all about Edgar's tattooed enchantments and why he hadn't been able to kill him the first time. Excalibur, forged in dragon's (_dragons _– now that was something Arthur would defiantly be talking to Merlin about) breath, was the only weapon that could slay the immortal; the replica had had little effect on Lucius, because it was an ordinary blade.

And then there was the prophecy. Gaius told him that one night, around two months ago, Merlin had woke up shouting and sweating. It had taken his mentor a while to get through to him and when he had, Merlin told him about his dream, in which Lucius killed Arthur. It would have fulfilled itself, had Merlin not managed to slow time, a task Gaius originally thought was impossible. Now, with Lucius and Edgar gone, it was no longer valid. Merlin had changed destiny.

Arthur was well and truly in awe of his friend.

When he wasn't watching over Merlin, he was dealing with Lucius' men, who had been unaware of the warlord's plans. Some agreed to stay in Camelot and join the royal guard, but most chose to leave.

With them out of the way, Arthur finally got the chance to discuss Merlin's magic with Guinevere. They had talked for hours about how magic had affected them in the past, how it had influenced them both positively and negatively, and came to the conclusion that perhaps their prejudices had been wrong. They had managed to contact a few sorcerers still living in secret within Camelot, and talk with them. Soon, they had decided it was time to renew the laws on magic.

The Knights of the Round Table had been mostly accepting, but the Council were most defiantly not. Most of them had been advisors to Uther, and supported his prosecution of magic, but Arthur told them that he _would _be reviewing the ban on magic. It would take time, and the repeal would not be imminent, but he warned them that change was coming. And when it was, Merlin wasn't going to be a servant anymore. He would be one of them.

Arthur was still hurt. The betrayal still lingered. He wished Merlin had told him, yet understood why he hadn't. They had both told lies, and Arthur knew that now was the time to right them.

So, when Merlin was finally up and about, Arthur was the first one to visit him.

Merlin was sitting at the table, bowl of untouched soup placed on the table in front of him, and Arthur took a seat directly across from the warlock. For a while, they sat in silence, both struggling for words.

Arthur spoke first. "I'm glad you're all right, Merlin."

"You are?" Merlin blinked.

"Of course I am," Arthur said with a loud, patronizing huff, as if to say _what do you take me for?_ He added a quiet, fond "Idiot" a few heartbeats later.

"So you're not going to have me executed?"

"No!" Arthur cried. "Wha-_Mer_lin!"

Merlin ducked his head in shame.

"I'm not going to execute you, Merlin," Arthur said quietly. "But I am… _angry_. And hurt. And… I don't know how I feel. But I know I don't want to lose you again."

"I'm sorry."

Arthur chuckled softly. "You should be. All these years…"

"I'm sorry," Merlin echoed.

Silence followed. Then, Arthur said, "There's a lot to discuss."

"I have all afternoon."

The king smiled brilliantly. "Me too."

The tips of Merlin's lips turned upwards in reply. "Where should we start?"

"Dragons."

Merlin raised his eyebrows. "Dragons?"

Arthur nodded. "_Dragons_."

And so Merlin told him about dragons, and then about Morgana, and then about Uther, and everyone - Freya, Balinor, Lancelot - else. Merlin told him e_verything_. They talked all through the day and all through the night, and when the sun rose the next day, Arthur felt like the truly _knew _Merlin.

Change _was _coming, and Arthur knew it would be for the better.

* * *

_The End_

* * *

Told you to bear with me! Reviews always welcome, and if any of you have any prompts, I'd love to hear them. Just PM me or drop a review :)


	12. Sunrise: Part I

**A/N: **the fact that I wrote this should be attributed to Ocean Mint Leaves. I have really bad writers block, and it was thanks to her lovely message that I finally sat myself down and wrote something. So thank you, Ocean! :)

I'd like to thank all of you for your reviews, favorite and follows. It's amazing to have such positive feedback :)

Oh, by the way, MAGIC REVEAL guys! It's a bit of an odd one, I think, so it might not be so brilliant… but oh well, I wrote something, _finally_!

**Title: **Sunrise

**Author: **FlYiNgPiGlEtS

**Summary: **Arthur and Merlin take a moment to appreciate Albion, and the warlock thinks it's about time the king knew the truth.

**Ratings**: K+

**Characters: **Merlin and Arthur.

**Pairings:** Gwen/Arthur.

**Spoilers: **series 1-4 only, I think. Might be a quote or two from the finale inside. Set between series 4 and 5.

**Warnings: **none.

**Disclaimer: **unfortunately, I don't own Merlin; it belongs to the BBC and Shine.

* * *

**VII: **_Sunrise: Part I_

It was sometime after Morgana's last attack on Camelot, when the city had recovered almost completely from her siege, that Merlin finally stopped to appreciate Albion.

He'd been working so hard for the last couple of months that he barely noticed the transformation that was happening around him. If he wasn't doing something for Arthur, Gaius needed herbs; and, when neither his mentor nor his king needed him, he could usually be found in the lower town, helping however he could in the reconstruction of the burnt or destroyed houses, fetching provisions and doing whatever he could for the needy people of Camelot. It was a wonder he found the energy, really, and went to bed each night thoroughly exhausted. But knowing that Camelot was prospering even after Morgana's latest blow, and that doing something as mundane as hauling bricks around or giving out the provisions Arthur had ordered be distributed during the harsher months was helping, made it well worth it.

So, for a while, Merlin's life continued like that – a whirlwind of rushing backwards and forwards, doing this and that, while Camelot settled into a semblance of normality. Arthur and Guinevere settled quickly into their roles as monarchs and were happier than ever. The knights were content as well, and even Gwaine had no intention of leaving anytime soon. While the knights were often busy with patrols or the vigorous training sessions Arthur put them through, when the king took a break from visiting those in need, their new lives were better than they could ever have imagines. But, despite their numerous tasks in the lower town, where Merlin, more often than not, was also helping, they didn't see the servant nearly as much as they used to, or would have liked.

Though even that was righted when, almost six months after Morgana's siege, Arthur held a feast to celebrate the completed reconstruction of the lower town and insisted Merlin joined the banquet, rather than served at it. The whole of Camelot was rejoicing, peasants and nobles alike, and Arthur was too happy to care that he was publicly displaying his friendship with his servant. After all, Merlin was a lot more than a servant to him and had helped not only the young king, but Camelot itself, so much that it was about time Arthur gave the warlock some credit.

Merlin sat among the knights, alongside his beaming king and flourishing queen, and they talked and drank (and even sung) through the night, until they stumbled back to their respective chambers in the early hours of the morning. It had been the perfect night.

Just because he'd been a part of the banquet, however, didn't mean Merlin was getting the day off, and Arthur had demanded his presence the morning after their jovial celebrations. Merlin had only slept an hour or so – which had become such a regular occurrence these days that it felt almost normal – before setting off, surprisingly early, to Arthur's chambers.

He walked – all right, _stumbled_, because he might have been a little hung over (but there was no way he was telling Arthur that) – slowly, appreciating the rays of sunlight that beamed through the open windows and the gentle breeze the swept softly through the corridors. It was peaceful. Only a few people were up at this hour and a comfortable calmness had settled over the sleepy Camelot. It was beautiful and Merlin, not far from the royal chambers, couldn't help but stop and stare for a moment, out of the large window that gave him an almost perfect view of the entire city and the countryside that surrounded it.

It was the first time he had looked properly at Camelot, in such a long time, and the first he truly saw Albion.

Sun bathed the hills and swaying trees. The sky was a brilliant blue, dotted lightly with only a few fluffy white clouds, and the land below it was a lush, vibrant green. A distant river sparkled as it danced over smooth rocks and, in the bright light of the sun, the citadel seemed taller and more regal than ever, alight with the same lively glow as the leaping waters – a symbol of life and perseverance, of dependence and defiance. Camelot stood tall and proud, and Merlin felt, then, that there was nowhere he would rather be.

And suddenly, it was like everything had fallen into place. The peaceful and prosperous land before him was the Albion he had always dreamed of. _This _was what he had sacrificed so much for. _This _was Camelot's true Golden Age.

But there was something missing: magic. Merlin could feel it's presence in the earth now, more than ever, bubbling underneath the surface, stretching over the horizon and blanketing the earth much like the sun itself. It was returning to the land, slowly but surely, though the Once and Future King had yet to accept it, let alone permit it. Magic was growing restless, and so was Merlin.

He wanted Arthur to know the truth. No more secrets, no more lies. It was time.

But what if Arthur didn't accept his magic? What if he chose the wrong moment, or the wrong words? What if-?

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Merlin blinked and was rather startled to find that Arthur was standing beside him, staring out of the window with a small, proud smile. The king's eyes sparkled as he took in every inch of Camelot, filled with the same compassion that he ruled with. Not a single person would have doubted Arthur's love for Camelot, if they had seen the king's smile in that moment.

"Sometimes…" the sides of Arthur's lips tugged further upwards, as if his grin could barely contain itself. "Sometimes I look at all of this and find it hard to believe that it's real. There were times when I thought I would never be king; that I would never live to see this again. It seems like such a long time ago, now. All those fears, they seem so… pointless. When I look at Camelot, the way it is now, I know this is what I've always been fighting for. I'm proud that even when the odds were against us, we kept on fighting. This… it's more than I ever dreamed of."

Something swelled deep within Merlin's chest, a profound feeling of pride and understanding that the warlock knew dominated most of his own smile, and when Arthur glanced his way, the king couldn't contain his joy any longer, and his grin magnified like it had been trying so desperately to do during his confession. In that moment, there was nothing between them but respect and friendship, and they were equals.

They went back to sharing the view, standing in companionable silence, until, "Arthur?"

The king's eyes flickered his way and Merlin knew to continue.

"I have magic."

In hindsight, it might not have been the best time to tell the king his biggest secret. It had been a sudden, spur-of-the-moment decision; he'd barely realized he was actually going to say those words until he had. But there was no going back now.

Arthur looked somewhat confused, although amusement crept into his baffled expression. "What?"

"I'm a sorcerer," Merlin said, voice wobbling slightly. "I have magic."

Arthur threw his head back and laughed. _Laughed_! "Of course you are, Merlin."

"No, Arthur, I…"

Merlin fell silent as Arthur continued to chuckle, seeming deeply amused by his servant's confession, and not at all like he actually believed him. How many times, now, had Merlin claimed to be a sorcerer? Arthur was losing count. Of course, it couldn't possibly be true. If Merlin were a sorcerer, Arthur would surely know. And every other time he'd admitted – falsely, _of course_ – to having magic, it had always been proven, somehow, that he didn't. Because Merlin having magic was just absurd. He couldn't walk in a straight line without falling over, for goodness sake.

But then his eyes were glowing gold and suddenly, the glowing azure ball, the same one that had helped him escape the spiders all those years ago, had appeared in Merlin's outstretched hand. There was no denying it – this was magic. Merlin had magic.

_Merlin had magic_.

Arthur took a shaky step backwards, out of shock and hurt and perhaps even fear, and for the first time in his life, he felt clumsy. His legs were disobeying him and he nearly ended up sprawled out across the floor. Thankfully, his knight instincts saved him from the particular indignity, but it was bad enough that he had so much as stumbled in front of the traitor he had once called a friend.

Merlin was looking at him with wide eyes, begging him to understand, begging him not to run, but that's all Arthur wanted to do. Why did it hurt so much? Why did Arthur's chest feel tight, and why were his eyes burning? Why did he feel so damn _betrayed_?

The man before him – the _sorcerer _before him – was nothing more than a servant. A traitorous, useless servant, not his friend; _never _his friend. No, that's not why it hurt. It hurt because magic was evil and surely, _surely_, this pain wasn't his own. It wasn't betrayal, like he had felt when Morgana turned against Camelot, or when he discovered Agravaine was working with his half-sister. He'd cared about those people; he had never cared about Merlin.

Merlin was doing this to him. It was a spell. It was all a spell. Somehow, Merlin was torturing him, even if his eyes weren't glowing that hideous gold; this hurt was his doing, some elaborate spell he had cast. All this time, Merlin had been enchanting him. Yes, it was obvious now.

"Arthur-" Merlin took a cautious step towards him.

Arthur stepped away. "You're not… you can't…" Those words weren't his. He didn't speak like that. He didn't sound so hurt, so weak, so _vulnerable_.

"Arthur, I'm sorry."

"No," the first denial came out as a whisper, but the next time it was a roar, so loud Arthur thought the whole palace might wake, "_No_!"

There were tears in Merlin's eyes and, as much as he _hated _it, Arthur knew his own eyes were watery. He took another step backwards, surer, no longer tripping over his own feet, and reached for his sword. A cruel voice was screaming for him to draw it, but he couldn't. And so, instead, he turned away from the tearful warlock and let his shoulders sag with the pain he felt so deeply within himself, that it seemed impossible for it to be real. This pain was so unnatural, so foreign, that Merlin was obviously enchanting him to feel it, because king's were not allowed to feel so broken.

"Leave me," Arthur said finally, voice tense.

"Your…. Don't you want your breakfast?" Merlin mutters.

Something inside Arthur wanted to laugh at that. Merlin was still thinking about _breakfast_, of all things. But then he remembered that this wasn't the Merlin he knew. This was Merlin the sorcerer, who had betrayed Camelot, who had betrayed _him_. "Go," he ordered.

Merlin didn't move. Time passed, but they both stood frozen, firm. Then Arthur spun around, finally finding the courage to draw his sword and point it at Merlin's throat. They were both shaking.

"_Leave_," Arthur growled.

Again, Merlin didn't move.

"Leave now, and I will spare your life!" Arthur bellowed, but he sounded almost as though he was begging. Excalibur was trembling in his hands.

Merlin swallowed, Adam's apple coming dangerously close to Arthur's blade. "No."

Arthur's chest heaved as he drew the sword back, as if to strike. Merlin's eyes were wide and his tears flowed freely down his cheeks, but he didn't make a move to stop Arthur. The king drew a deep breath…

… And lowered Excalibur, arms falling limply to his sides. He couldn't kill Merlin. But he would not allow the sorcerer to go unpunished.

"Get out of my sight," Arthur snapped. "I want you gone by sunrise tomorrow. If I find that you are still in Camelot, I will have you executed."

He couldn't bear to look into Merlin's pained eyes any longer. Arthur turned his back and walked away, because he knew that no amount of yelling would make Merlin go willingly. He always stayed, no mater what.

And the logical part of his mind was already telling him that that was not the behavior of a traitor.

* * *

_End of Part I_

* * *

Okay... not exactly what I expected to write, but hopefully it turned out all right. Next part will have more of a discussion about Merlin's magic - maybe a trip to the tavern, even...

They'll only be two parts to this. It was meant to be a one-shot, until I realised it was going to be too long. That happens often, I'm afraid. At least it's not five parts, like the last one... the length of 'Portents and Prophecies' was defiantly underestimated, by a long shot.

Reviews always appreciated. I would also be grateful for any prompts you guys might have. Is there anything you want me to write? I'd be happy to do it, as long as it's a reasonable request :)


	13. Sunrise: Part II

**A/N: **I am really sorry this part took so long. It kind of got away from me, as you can probably tell from the word count.

**Title: **Sunrise

**Author: **FlYiNgPiGlEtS

**Summary: **This time, Merlin really _is _in the tavern. And Arthur is determined to find him, so he can make things right.

**Ratings**: K+

**Characters: **Merlin, Arthur, the knights, Gwen, Gaius and Geoffrey of Monmouth.

**Pairings:** no slash. Gwen/Arthur (err… quite a lot of it, actually.)

**Spoilers: **series 1-4 only, I think.

**Warnings: **um… alcohol? Is that a warning?

**Disclaimer: **unfortunately, I don't own Merlin; it belongs to the BBC and Shine.

* * *

**VII: **_Sunrise: Part II_

"Arthur?"

Arthur looked up from the plate of sausages and eggs one of the servants – not Merlin – had bought him for breakfast, to see his Guinevere's curious chocolate eyes and sweet smile. He tried to smile back, but it was a feeble attempt.

"Are you all right?"

"Fine," Arthur mumbled. "I'm fine."

The queen didn't look convinced, but decided, instead, to ask, "How was your walk?"

"Fine."

Gwen eyed him with concern. "Arthur, what's bothering you?"

"Nothing."

"_Arthur_."

"It's nothing."

"Did something happen between you and Merlin?" Gwen wondered, voice kind and calm.

"No," Arthur snapped.

"Whatever it is, I'm sure you'll work it out. You two can never stay mad at each other." She smiled slightly. "I'm glad you have a friend like him."

"We're not friends."

Gwen's forehead creased slightly. "Of course you are."

"We are _not _friends," the king repeated firmly. "He is my servant, nothing more."

"Arthur!"

Arthur stood abruptly, chair scraping across the flagstone floor, and Guinevere fell silent. "There's somewhere I must be." And with that, he stormed out of the room, leaving a stunned queen in his wake.

* * *

Despite passing it almost everyday, Arthur couldn't remember the last time he had actually been_ inside_ the palace library. He'd very deliberately avoided it as a child, much preferring to practice with a sword than to read the ridiculously large books his scholars were always giving him, and now that he was king he had never really found the time to take up reading. Guinevere was always telling him just how wonderful a good book could be, and Merlin teased him constantly for his lack of intellectual hobbies, but between kingly duties and knightly training, it was hard to find the time for unrealistic stories.

That was probably why, when he stepped into the library that morning, Geoffrey of Monmouth gave him a peculiar look and raised his eyebrows so high Arthur decided he must be taking lessons for Gaius. The king gave him a slight nod before proceeding to march towards the nearest shelf, scanning the worn spines of the large, dusty books avidly.

"Sire?" Geoffrey asked, from his place at his wooden desk. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Yes, actually," Arthur replied. "I'm looking for a book about magic."

Arthur hadn't meant to be so blunt about it, but he wasn't in the mood for spending his morning searching for the books his father had deliberately hidden (or burned) during the Purge. Besides, Geoffrey's flabbergasted expression would have been hilarious, if he wasn't still reeling from Merlin's revelation.

The old librarian recovered quickly. "Is there a specific volume you are looking for, sire?"

"No. Just a book… about magic. Any book about magic will do."

"I'll see what I can find."

Geoffrey shuffled off to the back of the dark and rather cold room, leaving Arthur standing at his desk. The king shifted his weight awkwardly, focusing on the many, many shelves, rather than the constricting pain in his chest, that was growing with each passing moment, each time he thought about his traitorous manservant.

Traitorous _friend_.

No. No, what he had told Guinevere was true; Merlin was not his friend, and never had been. By sunrise tomorrow, the traitor would be gone from Camelot, and Arthur wouldn't feel this way any longer. He just had to bear the hurt, the false betrayal, for one day, however impossible it seemed, and then it would be over.

Arthur was startled out of his thoughts when Geoffrey returned with a large pile of books, the covers of which seemed to have been deliberately damaged or graphitized, in order to disguise the contents. The librarian let them fall onto his desk with a loud thud, a heavy cloud of dust exploding from the worn covers and making Arthur sneeze.

"These were preserved during the Great Purge." Geoffrey looked slightly nervous. Arthur knew 'preserved' meant 'hidden from Uther', but decided not to mention it. After all, he _was_ seeking them out himself. "_A Brief History of Magic, Magic Through the Ages_, _The Art of Magic_ and _Ancient Legends and Myths_. Will these suffice, sire?"

"Exactly what I was looking for," Arthur lied – because he hadn't known what he was looking for at all – and feigned a smile. "Thank you, Geoffrey."

Geoffrey gave a slight bow and Arthur hefted the books up from the desk, dismayed by their weight. With a brief and slightly awkward smile that defiantly didn't give the impression that he was up to something (it did), and trying to hide the books he now held in his arms best he could because it defiantly wasn't against the law for them to even be in existence (it was), the king left the library and decided that next time he wanted to do some reading, he would send Merlin.

And then he realized, with a sinking feeling in his stomach and a prominent aching in his chest, that tomorrow, Merlin would be gone. Because he was a traitor. Not his friend; never his friend.

* * *

Arthur was halfway to his chambers, and was rather smug at how stealthily he'd managed to move through the palace, when Leon intercepted him. He should have been pleased, really, that one of his knights _finally _realized he was up to something – the four guards he had already passed only greeted him merrily and told him to enjoying his reading – but he couldn't help but grit his teeth as he forced an _obviously _inconspicuous smile.

"Leon," he said, as a way of greeting the knight, sounding a little over-cheery.

"Sire, we have received news from Nemeth. King Rodor…" Leon trailed of, eyeing the books in Arthur's arms. His eyes narrowed in confusion. "Are those books about _sorcery_?"

"No," Arthur blurted. "Of course not. They're, err… poetry."

The knight's eyebrows shot up. "Poetry?"

"Don't tell Gwaine?" Arthur winced; he sounded as though he were asking a question, not making a demand.

"Arthur, what's going on?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all. Just…. Widening my knowledge of…. Poetry. It's just _fascinating._" Arthur cleared his throat awkwardly, in a rather feeble attempt to retain his manhood."Now, what was that about Nemeth?"

Leon looked as though he couldn't decide if Arthur had gone mad, or if the king was up to something he shouldn't be. He seemed to realize that, whatever it was, he should probably stay out of, but, more likely than not, wouldn't. "They have lifted their ban on magic."

Arthur nearly dropped the magic books. Nemeth, during the Purge, had sworn allegiance to Uther and his ploy to rid the land of magic, in order to maintain their treaty with Camelot; Uther would have destroyed their agreement and widened his manhunt of magic into their lands had they not adopted such rules. Now, even after Uther's death, King Rodor continued to uphold the law, especially while Morgana was still a threat, as they believed magic did more damage than good, and that it was a force to be carefully regulated. Something drastic must have happened to change the king's mind.

"Lifted it?"

"Yes, sire."

Arthur would have liked to say something much more intelligent than a flabbergasted "_why_?", but that was all that came out.

"I don't know, but King Rodor asked that this be delivered to you." Leon held out a large envelope, sealed closed with an imprint of Nemeth's crest.

Just about managing not to drop the books, Arthur took the letter off Leon and gave the knight a genuine smile. "Thank you, Leon."

The knight nodded and turned to leave, but Arthur called him back. "Leon. Tell me, what do you think of Nemeth's decision to lift their ban on magic?" At first, Leon looked nervous, as if afraid to speak out about magic, so Arthur prompted him to continue. "I value your opinion; I won't hold it against you."

"I think… that magic, in general, can be both good and bad," Leon replied. "I have seen it save innocent lives, and have seen it take them; I have seen it heal wounds, and inflicted them. It is a matter of control and understanding. If Nemeth are able to ensure the safety of their people, while magic is practiced freely, then I believe that it was a wise decision. But if they allow their people to be consumed by the power that comes with magic, then I fear what will become of the kingdom."

Arthur considered these words. "Thank you, Leon. That will be all."

The knight gave a small bow and scrambled off, leaving Arthur to his 'poetry'.

* * *

_Arthur,_

_For many years now, and despite our previous misunderstandings, Camelot and Nemeth have been strong allies. I have seen Camelot flourish under your just rule and am more than glad that our kingdoms have found peace, but the reason that I am writing to you is not one of allegiance or loyalty. I feel that I must inform you that I, and the people of Nemeth, have come to a decision that the practice of magic, from henceforth, will be permitted within our kingdom. _

_The decision to lift magic was not an easy one. I have seen, first hand, the evil that magic can and has been used for, and I believe we would all be fools to underestimate such power as it. But just as I have seen evil, I have seen the kindness in the hearts of those who posses such powers and witnessed myself the good they strive to do. It is both detrimental and beneficial; we have chosen to see the benefits, and to ensure whatever dangers it may pose are handled efficiently. _

_You, like many others, may think that I am a fool to believe such things, but I hope, perhaps, that what I tell you next may enable you to better understand my decision. As you may well already know, a terrible plague had swept through a number of villages within Nemeth. There was not a single physician able to cure it and we had suffered a great loss because of the illness. It continued to overcome even the strongest citizens of Nemeth and I feared what would become of the kingdom if we did not take action. I had no choice but to seek help when my dearest Mithian fell victim to the disease. _

_I sought help first with the Druids. They were able to lessen the symptoms of the illness for a short while, but not cure it, though they told me that they knew of a man who could. Not a day later, a man well into his later years, who is know to the Druids as Emrys, rode into the courtyard and declared he knew of a way to cure Mithian. The Druids bowed at his feet, but you can imagine my incredulity when a man as frail and aged as he claimed the ability to free us from this epidemic. Still, I allowed him to try, for I was desperate, and had no other choice. _

_It truly was the most wondrous thing I had ever seen. With a few simple words, Mithian was cured. I could see the life return to her. I know that I have not seen anything so beautiful. _

_The miracles did not stop there. Emrys taught the Druids of a way to cure the disease themselves, by giving them small essences of his power. Almost as quickly as he had came, he was gone, claiming, rather jokingly, that there was another king who needed him, though not before he cured me of the terrible affliction also. I owe him my life, and promised that I would repay him in anyway fit; he told me he sought no reward, and that our happiness and good health was all his wished for, before riding off to this other king. Mithian, who thought perhaps she recognized him, though she could not tell where from, thinks we will never see him again; I fear that she is right._

_Magic saved the person I hold dearest and, of course, my kingdom. Nemeth surely would have fallen, if not for this Emrys, and I would have lost my darling Mithian. I am only able to write this letter because of Emrys. What kind of man would I be, I ask you, to ignore the acts of this kindly sorcerer and continue to prosecute his kind? It was only right that I repealed the ban. The people supported my decision, having seen the good magic had done for them, and so that is how this reform has come about. _

_Now, as magic slowly returns to Nemeth, I already see the benefits of my decision. I know that it was right and that Nemeth will be stronger because of it. I only hope that you, too, see the validity of my choice and that perhaps you will also be able to reassess your prejudices, as I have. _

_Ever faithful,_

_Rodor._

* * *

Arthur jumped when the door open and dropped Rodor's letter on the open pages of _Magic Through the Ages_. He scrambled to close the book, but Guinevere had rounded the table before he even managed to grab the cover. There was no way he was getting out of this one.

"Leon told me you were reading poetry," Gwen said, a hint of amusement creeping into her voice, though the hurt from his earlier display of petulance was still evident in her eyes.

"Uh… yes," Arthur replied. "Poetry."

The queen slid into the chair opposite him, picking up _The Art of Magic _and studying it intently before raising her eyebrows at her husband. "Arthur, would you like to explain what, exactly, is going on?"

"I'm sorry for my earlier behavior," Arthur said humbly. "I am… there is…"

"Whatever it is, you can tell me."

"See, it's… I banished Merlin."

"You did _what_?" she cried. "Why on earth would you do such a thing?"

Arthur winced. His chest still burned, and the sensation reminded him oddly of the many pyres his father had forced innocent men upon. If it had been Uther who discovered Merlin's magic, then banishment would have been a mercy; but now, to Arthur - and probably to Merlin too - it felt like the opposite. Had he made the right choice? Was it truly possible for Merlin to cast such a spell that he would feel such real friendship towards the sorcerer, and betrayal now that the king had discovered his lies? The books he had read told him what he was already beginning to believe; that no such spell was in existence.

"Arthur," Gwen murmured, worry creeping into her voice as she looked down at the magic books spread across the table in front of her. "What does magic have to do with this?"

His silence spoke wonders. Guinevere's eyes widened in shock. "I always thought there was something, but… no. Surely, he can't… _Merlin_? Merlin has magic?"

Hearing her say it made it so much more real and Arthur couldn't breathe. His eyes prickled with the horrible sensation of tears and all he could think of was the _trust _he had put in Merlin. Merlin, who _had _been his friend. Because Arthur knew that feeling – that feeling of _brotherhood_, that had grown so strong over the years that perhaps even this betrayal would not break it – could not be forged. It was too real for him to accept that it was another lie.

Guinevere hands were in his, squeezing tightly, eyes full of sympathy. "Oh, Arthur," she whispered. "What happened?"

"I found him at the window, the one that overlooks the entire kingdom, and… and we just looked at Camelot. Everything was as it usually was. And then," Arthur explained. "Then he turned to me and said he was a _sorcerer_."

Arthur ripped his hands from Gwen's and kicked his chair away. It tumbled across the floor with a loud clatter and he stormed to the window. "Merlin is a _sorcerer._ I have been harboring a sorcerer all this time! How could I have been so _foolish_?"

Gwen stood too, walking towards him. "You are no fool. None of us could have known."

"_I _should have known! I though I knew him; I thought he was my friend! And he betrayed me, just like everyone else!"

"There was no way you could have-"

"I couldn't bear to look at him, Guinevere. I told him to leave by sunrise tomorrow and never come back."

"Did you give him a chance to explain himself?"

"He is a sorcerer! He doesn't deserve-!"

"Arthur!" Guinevere cut him off. She looked outraged. "He has the same rights as any man, magic or not, to a fair trial! You cannot banish him without listening to what he has to say!"

Arthur balled his fists furiously. "Magic is pure evil! I do not need to put Merlin to trial to know that!"

"Do you truly believe Merlin is evil?" she demanded. "You do know him, Arthur. Perhaps he has lied to you, but you know in your heart that Merlin hasn't a bad bone in his body. He has always been loyal to you and to Camelot. I do not believe that he could possibly be _evil_."

"He has tricked us – tricked us into believe that we were his friends! He wants Camelot for his own!"

"Merlin is the most loyal man you know, Arthur! He has always been at your side, protecting you. That guardian angel you and the knights are always crediting for your miraculous survival does not exist; it was _Merlin_."

"What are you talking about?"

"How can you not see it?" she asked incredulously. "Where was Merlin whenever Camelot was in trouble? When you needed him the most?"

Chest heaving with angry, ragged breaths and body trembling with barely-contained fury, Arthur only stared at her. Her eyes were wide and begging, asking him to see reason. But he couldn't. He couldn't _think. _So he picked up his scabbard and sword from where another servant had placed them on the table and thundered out of the room for the second time that day.

* * *

It wasn't uncommon for Arthur to turn up to training fuming, with Merlin nowhere to be seen. Usually, it meant they'd had a fight and that they were both off sulking in their own way - Arthur hitting things, and Merlin complaining to Gaius while helping the old physician do his rounds.

So, when the king stormed onto the training grounds and took to pelting one of the dummies as hard as he possibly could, no one questioned him or Merlin's whereabouts. Even Gwaine, who usually would have called him something insulting by now, knew to keep quiet and let him take out his anger with whatever weapon his so wished. It was practically part of the knight's code, to leave Arthur to his moods unless Merlin was around to keep him in check. And since Merlin had not chosen to join them at this particular training session, no one mentioned the fact that the dummy was already ripped to shreds and that Arthur was only hitting a wooden stick. They certainly didn't want to be at the receiving end of his anger.

Arthur, as common practice when he was this angry, ignored them. There was only one thing on his mind and that was Merlin's magic. Guinevere's words played over and over in his mind, on a constant loop.

_It was Merlin. _

_How can you not see it?_

_Where was Merlin whenever Camelot was in trouble?_

All those times when there had been danger, when they had needed a savior, Merlin was never there. Yes, admittedly, Arthur had always been too distracted to care, but he had always presumed he'd run off to do something for Gaius or perhaps hide. But, looking back on the many times Merlin had rode into danger, unprotected, by his side, Arthur knew it was a stupid to think that Merlin would _hide_. If there was one thing Merlin was not, it was a coward.

But Merlin had never been truly unprotected, had he? Magic was just as much of a weapon as any sword, as much of a protector as any armor. And Arthur was sure, now, that he had used it all those times when Camelot was in danger, and when he needed saving. That blue ball of light in the caves had been Merlin. Merlin had saved him then, and every time after that. Because Merlin had never been in the tavern, or hiding, or running errands; Merlin had been saving the day with magic.

_Magic. _Just as it had been his downfall, it had also been his savior. Morgana may have taken Camelot because of it, but the same force had also saved it. As any weapon, it could be used for bad, but it could also be used for good.

Suddenly, it was clear; it wasn't even the magic that hurt, and it wasn't magic that was evil. Merlin hadn't even betrayed him. No, it was the lies that were causing his agony. It was the fact that Merlin hadn't trusted him enough to tell him the truth before. Because these conflicted emotions were not a spell. Because Merlin was his _friend_.

And there was no punishment for keeping secrets. He couldn't banish Merlin for that.

Destroyed dummy and training knights forgotten, Arthur stormed back into the palace.

* * *

Guinevere was waiting for him when he burst back into their chambers, one of the magic books, _Ancient Legends and Myths_, open in front of her. As soon as he had discarded his sword on the bed, she asked, curiously, "Does the name 'Once and Future King' mean anything to you?"

Arthur took a seat in front of her, taking her hands in his. "My behavior-"

"I understand, Arthur. There is no need to apologize."

"You are too good to me," he murmured, kissing the tops of her hands. She smiled sweetly. "I don't deserve you."

"No, you don't," she joked.

The king shifted and frowned at the book in front of her. "The Once and Future King? I've defiantly heard it before. I think… I think Merlin might have mentioned it once. He said I was the Once and Future King."

Gwen gave a small laugh of amazement. "Arthur… if you are the Once and Future King, then Merlin is Emrys."

Arthur's eyes widened. "Emrys?"

"The most powerful _warlock_ to ever walk to earth. Arthur, Merlin is a warlock; he was born with magic."

"_Emrys_? _Merlin _is Emrys?" Arthur couldn't contain his shock. There was a strange feeling in his chest, something oddly like pride. "He… he saved Nemeth."

"What?"

"But Rodor said he was an old man! How could Merlin possibly be Emrys?"

"'_Emrys is said to have a number of guises_.'" Guinevere quoted from the book. "'_No one can know how he will truly appear, but take heed, for those who are ever fortunate enough to met with Emrys will sense his power, and know that it is him. The magic he possesses like nothing Albion has ever seen; there are none who will not notice it._'"

"Well, there has always been something about him."

"It's incredible; _he'_s incredible. And you… Arthur, it says here you are to unite the five kingdoms, and bring about an era of peace for all of Albion."

"That's impossible. I can't… _we _can't be these people. It can't be true, surely."

"Who would know about this?"

"I don't know, Gaius?"

"Then we ask Gaius."

There were up in an instant, heading straight for the physician's quarters. Arthur hoped, as they walked, that Merlin wasn't there. He was quite ready to face him yet.

* * *

Bursting into Gaius' quarters and demanding, like the pompous, arrogant prince he used to be, "Am I the Once and Future King?" was, in hindsight, a bad idea. There were a number of colorful words, a few smashed experiments and a good few disapproving looks from the queen, and when, a half-hour later, they were finally settled and all the mess was cleared up, Gaius still looked about ready to faint.

"How did you find out?"

"About what?" Arthur said, a subtle challenge creeping into his words. "The legend, or Merlin's magic?"

Gaius gasped. "How…?"

"So you do know." The king couldn't hide his hurt.

For a moment, Gaius looked as though he might pretend that he didn't. Then he seemed to think better of it, and a sad expression crossed his face. "Did you believe that I wouldn't?"

Arthur sighed. "No."

"So is it true, Gaius?" Gwen asked. "Is Merlin Emrys? And Arthur the Once and Future King?"

"I think you ought to be discussing this with Merlin," Gaius replied. "He is far more familiar with the legend."

Arthur gave Gaius a stern look. "We're asking you."

The physician heaved a sigh, as if he felt far too old for this conversation. "Yes. There are some who say that you, Arthur, are the Once and Future King."

Gwen frowned. "You don't believe the legend?"

"Like I said, Merlin is far more familiar with it than me."

"But you know what it contains, do you not? You know I am meant to unite the land of Albion."

"That I do know to be true." Pride crept into Gaius' voice.

"But... but _how_? How is it possible?"

Gaius looked truly wise, and old, when he said, "Destiny is a strange force, Arthur, one that none of us can ever hope to understand. But it appears to have chosen you and Merlin. Your destinies have been entwined irreversibly together and tethered to Albion itself. It was been decided before time begun that you would meet and that a wonderful Fate would befall you both, and the land that you are said to unite together."

Gwen pressed a hand to her mouth, eyes wide and sparkling with tears. "It's incredible. You were destined to meet before time begun."

"I felt… when we met, I knew there was something about him," Arthur admitted softly. "And I think… I think I felt it."

"Destiny?" Gaius finished, smiling fondly. Arthur swallowed and nodded. "You are two sides of the same coin. Destiny chose you, Arthur; you must promise me that you will never take that for granted. Without you both, Camelot would be lost. You may not believe it, but Merlin has sacrificed more than I dare think about for this kingdom."

"Nemeth have repealed their ban on magic." Arthur kneaded the bridge of his noise with his fingers. He didn't know why he had said _that_. Perhaps it was easier than promising never to take destiny - and Merlin - for granted. Or perhaps because he was thinking about all that Merlin had done for him, and Rodor's words. _What kind of man would I be, I ask you, to ignore the acts of this kindly sorcerer and continue to prosecute his kind?_

"An admirable move." Gaius nodded in approval. "Do you think it was the right decision?"

Arthur met Gaius' wrinkled eyes. "I don't know. But I think I've made a terrible mistake. I banished him."

Gaius didn't look surprised, only sad. It was worse, in a way. Arthur stood, stool scraping across the floor, and turned away from the man he had so often sought for comfort and counsel, unable to look upon not only the resignation, as if he had expected this, but the disappointment Gaius was so carefully trying to mask.

"Where is he?" Arthur asked. No elaboration was needed on the 'he'.

"I believe he is in the tavern, sire."

Arthur turned slightly, a half-smile on his face. "No, really, Gaius, where is he?"

"I'm not making excuses for him this time. Merlin really _is _in the tavern."

"Oh." The king blinked. "Then I'm going to the tavern. I need to make things right."

* * *

Merlin was not, contrary to popular belief, a regular at the tavern. In fact, this was the first time he had actually been inside the Rising Sun Inn to drink, rather than help Gwaine out of a sticky situation or meet with tournament-competing sorcerers, since coming to Camelot. The shock on the barmaids face when he, the _king's_ _personal manservant_ (as many people continued to point out as they whispered to each other), ordered three tankards of mead for himself was hilarious, and Merlin almost wished Arthur was there to see it. Maybe then he would realize Merlin was never really in the tavern.

But then again, he knew just how unobservant the king could be. He was, after all, his _personal manservant_. Or at least _was _his personal manservant. Now he was just another peasant – an _exiled _peasant, actually, just like his father.

That was what he thought of, as he drank his mead; his father and Freya and Will. His thought of Morgana and Agravaine and Uther, as well, and of magic and destiny and Camelot. But most of all, he thought of Arthur, and everything he had done for him.

At some point, Gwaine strolled inside. The tavern was the knight's favorite place to relax after a day of training and when he saw Merlin sitting in the corner, Gwaine knew his night would be significantly better than usual. It was one of his lifelong ambitions to get Merlin drunk, and it looked like tonight would be his lucky night.

So that was probably how they ended up on the table, singing about friendship or something equally as soppy, while Merlin thought bitterly about Arthur and his banishment, which he had yet to inform Gwaine of. He wondered if the other knights, who were gathered on the particular table they were using as a dance floor and laughing heartily at the drunken pair, knew. He doubted they did. Arthur probably hadn't told anyone, so they would question him.

It took him a while to realize that the man who had banished him that very morning had walked into the tavern, looking rather conflicted, though thoroughly confused and perhaps slightly angry when he saw Gwaine and Merlin on top of the table, singing at the top of their lungs (a sound Arthur would liken to wailing cats in later years).

Merlin decided it was the shock of seeing the King of Camelot in a tavern that made him fall off the table. He was _not _drunk.

Yeah, no one was convinced.

* * *

Arthur huffed irately. It was almost like nothing had happened when he yanked Merlin off the ground and shoved him onto the empty stool between Leon and Percival, before hauling Gwaine off the table by his shirt.

"What are you thinking?" Arthur growled, after he had dragged the unruly knight away from the table Merlin now sat at. "You got him _drunk_?"

"He was doing a pretty good job of it himself, before I got here," Gwaine replied, shoving the king off. "This wasn't my doing, princess."

"Drunk sorcerers have no control over their magic, you idiot," Arthur snapped, realizing too late he had just gone and revealed Merlin's magic to Gwaine, and also that he had actually used some of the information from the damned magic books Geoffrey gave him.

Gwaine narrowed his eyes. "Did you just say _sorcerers_? No, I'm not that drunk. Merlin's isn't a…" they both turned around, just as there was a loud yell of surprise from across the tavern. Merlin had conjured the same ball that had saved Arthur from those spiders, the one he had used to prove to the king just that morning that he had magic, and sent it spinning around the table. Gwaine's eyes widened and he exclaimed, above the commotion of the tavern, "Holy hell, Merlin's a sorcerer!"

There was a long, tense moment of silence. Then the tavern plunged into what could only be described as pandemonium. People started rushing for the door, yelling about sorcery and evil and Morgana, and there was so much noise Arthur couldn't hear himself think. Just as he was about to end the panic, another voice sounded above all the others, loud and clear and a little slurred,

"It's all right!" Merlin yelled, scrambling out of his stool and raising his hands in the air in a surrendering motion. "I'm not going to hurt any of you! I'm banished anyway!"

The screaming stopped and everyone turned to stare at him, wide-eyed and silent, as he stumbled towards the king. A goofy smile spread across the warlock's face, and there was a doubt in Arthur's mind that his manservant was well and truly drunk.

"That's right. Arthur Pendragon _banished _me," Merlin continued. "After everything I've done for him, he told me to leave and never come back. Be gone by sunrise, he said, or I'll have your head!"

No one said a word.

"Perhaps I should have told him about the time I slowed time to save him from Mary Collins. Or about the time I enchanted the snakes in Valliant's sword so that he could defeat him. How I helped Lancelot kill the griffin, how I saved Uther from Edwin Muirden, or how I saved Arthur himself from being sacrificed to the sidhe. Maybe about the time I brandished Excalibur in a dragon's breath so The Black Knight could be defeated, or how I conjured the wind in Ealdor, not Will, who _died _for you. He was my best friend, and all you could say to me was that I should have told you about the magic he _didn't have._"

Arthur, along with the rest of the tavern, only stared.

"Let's not forget the time you were bitten by the Questing Beast. I went to give my life for yours, but Nimueh tried to take my mother's, and then Gaius'. So I killed her, just as I killed Mary and Edwin and Sophia and Aulfric! And that was just during the first year of knowing you! And after that there was Cornelius Sigan and even more bloody assassins. There was vengeful druids, wildoeren, trolls, witchfinders and evil sorceresses who tried to convince you to kill your own father! And then – _then _there was Freya, the only girl I ever loved, who _died in my arms_! And I had to poison Morgana, to stop her destroying Camelot, and met my father for the first time, only to have him die as well. You told me no man was worth my tears, but he was, Arthur. Balinor was.

I'm a Dragonlord, by the way. The power is passed on from father to son. Kilgharrah – The Great Dragon – isn't really dead. I made him leave Camelot and never return. It was the first time I used my Dragonlord powers, and I'm _glad _I did it. I'm _glad _I lied to you about it, because you would have gone after him and you would have killed the last of my kin. Or what _was_ the last of my kin. I saved the dragon egg from the tomb and hatched it. She's called Aithusa, the dragon, and she would never have harmed Camelot like you so feared when you set out to destroy it! That was another lie I'm glad I told."

The whole tavern was stunned. Merlin didn't seem to even realize they were there as he went on,

"When Morgana returned to Camelot, I knew she was evil. Morgause had twisted her and there was nothing I could do, but watch. I destroyed the skeleton army, not her; she was the one to conjure it, and her _sister _left me to the serkets! And when we went to the Valley of Fallen Kings and I healed you with magic, I saw Morgana kill you in the Crystal Cave, so _I _pushed her down the stairs. But then I saw the grief her death would have caused you and I healed her. I should have ended it all there, but I couldn't.

I stopped Morgana and Morgause again at Fyrien, by reflecting the fire and collapsing the roof, and came after you with Gwaine when you went after the Fisher King, knowing the bracelet Morgana gave you was enchanted to drain all your energy! And I destroyed the immortal army with Excalibur, after Freya gave it back to me, and put it into the stone afterwards. When Morgana took Camelot, and we went back to where I left it, I helped you pull it from the stone with magic. But Excalibur had always belonged to you, Arthur. Don't ever doubt that.

Arthur, I'm the old man that saved Gwen from being executed, the one you nearly burnt at the stake. I'm the one you went to when your father was dying. And the spell worked. I would have healed him, had Agravaine and Morgana not intervened. Agravaine was betraying you then and like always, you didn't listen to me when I told you he was. You didn't believe me, until you saw it with your own eyes! Even after Gaius was kidnapped and you banished Gwen, when she and Lancelot were both enchanted. Mithian shot Gwen after Morgana turned her into a deer, you know; I had to heal her, all while putting up with you threatening to exile me with her!

I killed Agravaine in the caves. He knew I was Emrys and I killed him. And even though he was a traitor, I felt like a monster. I have _always _felt like a monster. You and your father have done nothing but chase my kind. I watched as Uther executed sorcerers just like me, out of hatred and fear, knowing there was nothing I could do so save them, and wondering if I would be next. I was so alone. Yes, I had Gaius and Lancelot, when he was alive, and I could never have done any of this without them or you or the knights, but sometimes I felt like I have no one. I could never just be myself around my friends, because that would get me killed, and then what good would I be to you or this great Albion were supposed to create?

But that probably won't happen now, though. I have made so many mistakes. Too many. And I'm sorry for Morgana, and Agravaine, and your father. I'm sorry for the dragons, and the magic, and the lies. I'm so sorry.

And magic… magic won't be returning to the land anytime soon You hate me for something I can not control, something I was _born _with. You probably all hate me. But I won't leave Camelot. You'll have to kill me, because I am not leaving your side. Because no matter what happens, whether you hate me or whether you choose to burn me like your father would have done, you are my friend. You are my friend, and I will carry on protecting you – and Camelot – until the day I die. I told you that once before, and I intent to be true to my word. _I will not leave_."

Gwaine was first to break the long, tense silence that followed. He stepped between Merlin and Arthur, drew his sword and said, voice low and deadly, "If you're going to kill him, you'll have to get through me first."

Percival was on his feet next, taking his place next to Gwaine. "And me."

Elyan stood to Gwaine's right. "And me."

Leon rose and put his hand on Merlin's shoulder, in a silent, _and me_. Slowly, the peasants in the tavern began to take their own places around the warlock, until Arthur could no longer see him among them.

Looking at the protective crowd around the warlock, the king felt his heart swell at the display of loyalty. He stepped forward, and Gwaine and Percival stepped cautiously out of the way so that he could face Merlin. For a moment, they stared at each other, two blue pools meeting in a show of friendship and desperation and the truth. Finally, the _truth. _And then Arthur grabbed the collar of Merlin's ratty jacket and pulled him into a hug. Merlin rested his forehead on Arthur shoulder and the knights would swear, later, that they were both crying. The king and warlock's denials of this would, of course, be lies.

"Sire!" one man in the crown protested angrily. "He is a sorcerer! The law states-"

"The law is outdated!" Arthur put his arm around Merlin, who was now stumbling madly and looked to be on the verge of passing out, and looked at the people gathered around him. "Merlin will not be executed, nor will he be banished. That is my word and if you do not agree, you can bring your quarrel to the court when we review the laws on magic. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a Court Sorcerer to get home."

* * *

Arthur had to practically carry Merlin back to the palace. Apparently the warlock's capability to speak for hours remained perfectly intact while he was intoxicated, but his ability to walk in a straight line did not. And, to add to what was possibly the strangest (and most enlightening) night Arthur had ever lived through, his earlier worries were confirmed: magic and mead were not a good combination. Merlin had already managed to turn three pigs bright green, and the tricks didn't stop there.

"Did you see that?!" Gwaine exclaimed behind the stumbling pair, after Merlin unwittingly turned the flames of a nearby torch into a rather lifelike figure of a dragon. "This is _awesome_! Merlin, mate, do you know how to-?"

"Sir Gwaine," Arthur called over his shoulder commandingly. "Am I going to have to instate a law banning you and Merlin from devising magical pranks?"

"No, 'course not," Gwaine shouted back. "And if you did, you know I would just ignore it!"

The other knights, who were also marveling at Merlin's various spontaneous displays of magic, chuckled.

"I heard your rather lenient on the law these days anyway, princess," Gwaine said, when the laughing stopped.

"Gwaine," Leon warned.

Gwaine ignored him, expression becoming serious. "Are you really lifting the ban on magic? And making Merlin Court Sorcerer? Because the man bloody deserves it, after everything he's done, but what about the past twenty-something years Camelot has spent living in fear of magic?"

"I know that it will be difficult to reassure them that magic is not a force to be feared," Arthur replied calmly, sounding very much like the worthy Once and Future King he was. "But I hope, in time, they will come to see the good that it can do, as I have. It may take some time, but I believe we can do it."

"I respect you for that," Gwaine told him sincerely.

Arthur stopped, momentarily, to look at the drunken knight. It was the first time Gwaine had ever admitted such a thing, and Arthur was doing a rather bad job of hiding his surprise and happiness. "Thank you, Gwaine. I hope you're not the only one."

"He's not," Percival promised, with a small smile.

"We will always stand by you and your decisions, " Leon added.

Elyan nodded. "You won't be alone in this, Arthur."

The king smiled at the four knights gathered before him. "Your support means a lot to me. Thank you."

Merlin hiccupped and muttered something unintelligible, interrupting the moment of companionable silence and understanding. They all laughed, and Arthur wondered just how he'd managed to make such a speech back at the tavern as drunk as he was.

Amid fiery dragons and rampant green pigs, they walked side by side towards the palace – towards their home, where a new era was waiting for them.

* * *

"Why are you helping me?" Merlin slurred, as Arthur dropped him gently onto the bed and begun helping him get those ridiculous boots of his off.

"Because, you drunken buffoon," Arthur said, chucking the boots across the messy room. "One day magic will be legal again and I'm going to need a Court Sorcerer. And I can't think of anyone else I would rather have by my side, but you, old friend."

Merlin blinked at him and stated, like an upset child, "You banished me."

"That was a mistake, and I'm sorry. I am truly sorry for everything, Merlin."

"I lied to you."

"But you trusted me as well. You told me the truth. And all those times that you didn't – well, I understand." Arthur tucked one of the ratty blankets that had been thrown on the floor around his friend. "And Merlin… I need you as much as Albion does. Maybe even more. So you better stick around."

"Don't worry." Merlin gave him one of his signature grins, eyes drooping sleepily. "I don't plan on leaving anytime soon."

"Good." The king ruffled his hair fondly. "Now get some sleep. I have a feeling tomorrow's going to be a busy day."

Merlin, for once, did exactly as he was told. Arthur smiled at the sleeping warlock, before walking out into the main room of the physician's quarters, where Gaius sat waiting.

"Thank you," Gaius said.

"I should be thanking you, Gaius, for being there for him while I couldn't."

"Shall we call it even?" the old man asked.

Arthur nodded, grinning. "Sounds good to me."

* * *

"I'm proud of you," Guinevere said, when he returned, beaming, to their chambers that night. "You did the right thing."

He snaked his arms around her waist and kissed her lips. "I may have promised Merlin the position of Court Sorcerer."

"So we are lifting the ban on magic, then." Gwen chuckled. "It may take time, Arthur."

"I'm prepared to wait."

"As am I."

"I think we can do it."

Gwen grinned at him. "I _know_ we can. And I can't think of anyone better for the position of Court Sorcerer than Merlin."

"Nor can I."

His queen kissed him again. "Now, my Once and Future King, come to bed. Tomorrow is going to be a busy day."

* * *

Tomorrow was, in fact a very busy day. As were the next seven hundred and twenty nine. But exactly two years after he had revealed everything, Merlin was officially made Court Sorcerer of Camelot. It had taken a number of visits to Nemeth, a lot of convincing and tedious amount of time, but they had done it. Not soon after, Morgana fell, and Camelot's true Golden Age begun.

Now, the young prince and princess of Camelot ask, every night before they go to bed, for their father to tell them the story of how Uncle Merlin became Court Sorcerer. And Arthur was always more than happy to oblige.

* * *

_The End_

* * *

Happy ending! Corny, I know, but I couldn't help it. I hope Merlin's speech wasn't took bad - it was really hard to write. I kept wanting to say 'in series one...' when I was listing everything he'd done (testing my Merlin knowledge of the episodes was pretty fun. I had a lot of help from MerlinWiki).

Let me know what you thought. Prompts and reviews always welcome :)


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